Child's Play
by Sydneyla
Summary: Amelia Jones- a nineteen year old sheriff in the wild west of California, and Arthur Kirkland- twenty year old notorious pirate captain of The Empirical meet in a saloon, and the antagonism between them is absolutely alive. And kicking. Viciously. But in this game of cops and robbers, who, exactly, is chasing who? USUK with GerIta and Spamono later on.
1. All Players On Start

**Child's play- All Players On Start**

_~Amelia Jones~_

Tipping the brim of my hat as two men left the saloon and I entered, my sky blue, cerulean eyes scanned the area for any potential problems. As I sat at the bar, the doors of the establishment parted once again, the large swaths of brightly colored fabric and a large white feather proceeded the figure beneath them as it swept in. A genuine pirate. The Devil himself cloaked with evergreen eyes, revealed in a wicked smirk and the hungry gleam of his personage emerging darkly in the same immensely deep, foreboding eyes, the same shadow hovering above them, projected from the wide brim of the Captain's hat on his head, accented with the jewel hanging from his ear.  
His dark leather boots carried him to the stool next to me, on which he sat. A gargled Englishman's English left his mouth, and due to the misdirection of his eyes, it took a moment for me to recognize the demand's direction towards me. "Oi, you. Wench. Bes a good lass an' gets me a rum."  
"I'm not a wench."  
"Oi, bitch. Gets me a rum."  
"I have a name, pirate."  
"Oh, pray tell."  
"Sheriff Jones."  
"Nay, tha' won' does. Wha' be your name, bird?"  
"Sheriff."  
"You look mo'e akins to... A Challenge. I very much likes a goo' challenge, miss."  
"And you look like trouble. And I ain't too fond of trouble. So I guess you're dumb out of luck, Captain."  
His eyes took then to looking me over, grazing over me in a way that put me quite in a discomfort. When they finally came to rest on my face, a possession had hold of them, predatory, ravenous, fierce, as held by such rabid beasts of the highest terrors. It nearly put me in a shock, or a sweat, but I held my ground, as not to be shaken.  
"Let's you I makes a deal."  
"And what deal is that?"  
"Your name in exchange for a drink."  
"How about my name in exchange for your leaving my town?"  
"Oh, where's be the fun in that, Bonnie?"  
"The part where I don't have to arrest you."  
"Arrest me? But what for? Because I bes a pirate?"  
The egotistical smirk widening on his face led me to affirm the same conclusion as he had. My claim, however grandiose and threatening, held no ground. "You hold no charge against me." He rose to the same standing position as I had taken, hands clasped at the small of his back as he leaned towards me. Thin lips parted in a wicked, self assured, prideful smile as he whispered the words slipping like poison into my veins, bringing my blood to a rolling boil. "And no matter what I does, me little chick, you'll never catch me."  
The tingle that slunk, snake like, down my spine succeeded only in feeding the arrogant shine of the man's eyes.  
"Now, if you doesn't mind learning some maturity, tells me, what be your name?"  
A potent venom laced itself into my speech as the hiss left me, reflected in the vast pools of my eyes. "Amelia. My name is Amelia."  
He rolled it on his tongue, before extending a gloved hand. "Captain Arthur Kirkland ofs me good ship The Empirical."  
I hesitated, taking his hand with a tentative grip, my hand seeming much smaller whilst clasped in his. The animalistic nature of his serpentine green eyes as he looked into mine then, bore into me, leaving a permanent brand, it felt, burning the flesh to leave a mark on my life, that would never be rubbed clean.  
"I was promised a drink?"  
He laughed, a sinister, dark thing, dropping a single golden piece on the table, the coin's solid thunk, the gentle vibration felt in the grain of the wood was distinctive. Two dirty mugs of rum were presented to us, my sheriffs badge reflected softly against the gently dirty glass. From the corner of our eyes we observed each other as we drank, watching, committing to memory the mannerisms of our decided prey. For me, my sole intention was his imminent arrest, though the way his greedy eyes followed my movements, the luster they held as he smirked at me gave me the impression escaping me alone was not his goal. As badly as I wanted him in jail, he wanted me for another reason completely. Which scared me to a point I can't seem to very well iterate, as the strangeness of his being put me off in such ways, numbering more than one.  
"Wha' says you to comin' to me ship?"  
"No way in hell. I don't really do ships. I get seasick. Bad memories."  
"Come now-"  
"Back off."  
Before he protests, a scoff is heard. One of the troublemakers I dealt with before. "Trust me, you won't take her. The closest thing to a sexual experience you'll ever get with The sheriff is getting arrested."  
"Seems pretty close though."  
The two snicker, agreeing and whispering something to each other. In the time they do this, Captain Kirkland has looked me over again, studying my face, now. "What the Hell do you want?"  
"Actually, what I be wanting, chickadee, is you."  
"No! You can't have that!"  
"Bu, me beauty, I ge' anything, or one I wa'."  
"Yer fixin ta ma' a strumpet o' er, cap'n?"  
"Aye! She's a boxom lass, ain' she?"  
"How's you be goin' to acquire a booty such as it?"  
"I be thinkin to collect the bi' by a sligh' crimp."  
The way they spoke about something was in such a way that I couldn't comprehend. "What are you saying?"  
"Aw, the lass is addled."  
"I'm not addled!" My anger fuelled the words, and though I didn't really know what addled meant, I was in the state of mind to disagree with anything coming out of the pirate's mouth.  
"Now, don't you be going an' hangin' the jib, Amelia."  
"And what the hell does that mean? Unless you think I'm going to hang you? Which, at this point, I very well might do."  
"Oi, calm yer-"  
My fiery gaze met his as I swept closer, noting the money he'd pocketed. The barrel of my pistol was held under his jaw, and immediately, likewise, blunderbusses are pointed my way. "Put it back."  
"What back, scrumpet?"  
"The second you shoot, we'll blow ye down, lassie."  
"But your captain'll be dead by then, wouldn't he?"  
He laughed then, smiling down at me with the same amusedly hungry eyes.  
"Aye, and more's the pity."  
"But no one dies if you just put. It. Back."  
"Oh, button down yer hatches, poppet."  
"And stay yer claws!"  
"Shut yer gob, dog."  
"Aye Aye."  
"Be you easy, now."  
"Put it back, and maybe I will."  
"Mm." He seemed to deliberate, trying to figure the importance.  
"Perhaps if you'll come away with me."  
"I'm not going to do that! Be stuck on a ship with you for company? No thanks."  
"Oh, not just I. Me crew too. They needs companionship, aye?"  
"Aye!"  
"A nice li' bi' o daintiness su' as yourself woulds do nicely."  
"I'm not a harlot!"  
"Nay, but you' ma' a pretty one."  
With a low growl, I removed the barrel from his gullet. "Get out of town." My words were a demand, cold as I retrieved the gold he'd snatched from his pocket and handed it to the bar keep, taking my leave of him.  
"Ah, catch me a hold o' the sli' and bring 'er up alongside, and sharp, too."  
I ducked below the arms trying to grab me, squatting close to the ground. Standing behind his arm, I jabbed my elbow into his back between his shoulder blades, jerking him forwards and taking the twin firearms from their holsters at my hips, swirling them upon my fingers and pointing them assuredly at two of the crew mates, a grin on my lips. /Here we go./ "Do I need to restore order, boys? Or will ya settle down?"  
"You akin to tame us, pigeon?"  
"Nay. Just rid my town of the likes of you. Dead or alive, I don't really hold a preference."  
A ball flew from one of the pirates, and I slipped into a splits, saving myself and firing back as the inhabitants of the town in the saloon took cover.

_~Arthur Kirkland~_

"Mind yerself, men.  
"Oh, whats tha'? Cap'n don wan us hur'n his pearl o' woman ware."  
"Aye, tha's righ'."  
One of my ship mates was busy wrapping an arm around a nearby woman, romancing her with whispers in her ear.  
"Is been a mighty while since last we's taken us a missy."  
"Aye, I think it be nice to get me tha' armful."  
"Why you be so keen on 'er, cap'n?"  
"The vixen told me no."  
"Di' she?"  
"Arrgh."  
"So what of whe' you ge' her?"  
"I'll figure it when it comes. Lets you I speak no more of it now. Leave me be."  
"Fair winds, cap'n."  
"Aye." A pain exploded in my shoulder, grazed by a bullet straight from the lass's pistol. "Bleeding hell! Ye shrew! You shot me!" My blunderbuss was quickly in my hand, rage sparking in my eyes.  
"I told you to leave."  
With a curt nod, my men grabbed her wrists, confiscating her weapons, and held them against her.  
"I figure yous be mo' keen to drop anchor at me ship? Is that not the truths of it, me little harem girl?"  
Amelia struggled, an exemplary curse leaving her lips, and the two holding the guns against her sides cocked the pistols threateningly.  
"Run and twist as ye like, bu' mind yer tongue, an mew not, li' claw cat."  
"I'll mew if I damn want to!"  
"I reckon you wont. Now, stands away with me, Amelia Jones."  
"I won't do that. No way in hell. I'm needed here. To protect this town from people like you."  
The strong splinter of anger in her eyes blazed as she glared dangerously at me. So of course, I stepped closer, setting a finger under her chin. "You'll learn, me dear, fluttering dove, that one can not protect something from me. You can only gives me what I wants before I goes to drastic measures to get it."  
"And you'll learn, pirate, that I ain't gonna give up until your gone or buried."  
A grin spread on my lips, as I evaluated my prey carefully. "I will, will I?" My crew laughed, a hearty bellow.  
"Yeah."  
"That'd bes quite the feat, bird."  
"Then it's a good thing I'm quite the sheriff, ain't it?"  
My smirk grew, and I found myself holding her chin tighter as she struggled, albeit fruitlessly.  
"Aye. Ye've perked me interest, Amelia."  
In an intense whirlwind of movement and motion, the two holding my bitty hostage crumpled in on themselves in pain while the rough twine of rope chafed the equally harsh skin of my wrists, the lady "Sheriff"'s warm and sweetly scented breath on the nape of my neck. With hands then bound behind my back, I drew them upwards in a rapid motion, hitting her squarely under the jaw and regaining control for a moment. But a measly moment before the victorious smirk was wiped off my personage as my legs were swept out from under me and my body collided with an obtrusive thud on the hard floor of the pub, the petite figure of my most recent prey crouched over my back, her voice, breathless, found my ears easily and with a cruel sting, though by some Godly, (or more likely, wholly ungodly) device, a grin maintained it's post on my lips.  
"Arthur Kirkland, you are under arrest."


	2. Clue

**Child's Play- Clue**

_~Amelia Jones~_

The barrels of the pirate crew's guns were pointed at me, and guns from other patrons of the saloon at them.  
"Leave the cap'n be."  
Forcing him to his feet, I held him I front of my smaller frame in defense against the bullets. "If you give him up with out a fight, I won't hang him. How's that sound?"  
"An' we believe ye, why?"  
"Because you'll have to. So get out of town, or there'll be a bounty for you ship and heads."  
"Nay! Not me ship!" Arthur turned his head to look at me with an incredulous expression in his stark green eyes.  
"Then tell your 'crew' to back off."  
He surveyed me for a moment, eyes wandering over me in an uncomfortable way with a loud, contemplative hum. He turned his head to share an expression with his crew that I couldn't catch. "Deal."  
There arose a fit of yelling before it quieted down with only a few words from my prisoner's mouth. "Now, now, veer and stand away, lads."  
"Put my pistols on the table and go."  
The group grunted in agreement and took a slow leave.

_~Arthur Kirkland~ _

"Ri', she'iff, take me home."  
"Shut up." Prodding my back, she urged me forward and I feigned weakness in my legs, as she had to support my weight, pulling me closer to her with a nearly contemptuous groan. "What now?"  
"I don't got me land le-" A sharp hiss of pain escaped my bared teeth as her hand clutched my shoulder.  
Her fingers recoiled immediately, and an angry glare met her when she surveyed my expression. "Claw cat."  
"I actually didn't do that on purpose."  
"Ri'. Likely answer, bi'."  
"Move faster, pirate."  
"And a proud one."  
"An obnoxious crude one."  
"Naturally."  
Before long we reached the building and she led me inside, instructed me to sit in a chair, and tied my feet to a table.  
"Wha' am I? A common beastie?"  
"Exactly." Her hands nimbly untied the rope on my wrists. I rubbed the chafed skin cautiously as she pulled up a chair behind me. "Take off your shirt."  
"Oh. You sadistic witch."  
"Shut up. Or I'll let you get infected and die. You're lucky I'm not amputating you."  
I obliged in the end, a wicked smirk on my lips. She tied my wrists to the table as she had my feet and sat back down in the chair behind me.

_~Amelia Jones~_

I'll never forget the ceaseless and vicious pattern of white scars on his back. His muscles rippled gently as he shifted, and I was nearly certain from the air of cockiness he was emitting, that he was showing them off to me on purpose.  
"Enjoying the view, me lassie?"  
"You're a pig."  
"Flatterer."  
With a roll of my sky blue eyes, I smacked his back with the back of my hand with a small scoff. "Shut up." Putting a handkerchief on the top of the bottle and tipping it slightly, wetting it with alcohol. "You're lucky it just grazed you. It should heal fairly quickly."  
"I'm aware, bi'. I've deal' wi' a bu'et or two." His words came to a halt as I took the fabric to the wound, wincing softly as he cursed with a bitter hiss. "Oi!"  
"Grow a pair."  
"Flog off."  
"So you want to get an infection?"  
"Aren't ye the wee Li'le shrew?"  
"I'm not a shrew."  
"Aye?" He cursed under his breath as I finished cleaning the wound. I stood, grabbing some gauze.  
"Yeah. You're just a bastard."  
"A bastard I may be, me armful, bu' a clever one, which is be'er than some."  
"Clever enough to let me untie your hands without running off?"  
"Quite. It'll be much better if I have the use of my hands, I'm sure."  
"What?"  
"Ye got no mo' brain than a sea turtle, gi'l. Alls the same, I won't run."  
"Alright." I untied him, eyes suspicious as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I stood behind him, gently wrapping the gauze around his shoulder, wound tightly, as firmly as I could without causing any discomfort too great.  
For a moment, neither of us spoke, the calm silence seeming a sacred, breakable thing, tangible in nature that not Arthur or I wanted to fracture. The loud creak of the door broke the seal, awkwardness flooding in with the woman who barged through the opened vestibule. "Amy! I heard these whispers tha-" She finally opened her eyes, her near grey eyes widened, a hand coming to her mouth. "Oh!" A blush came to her plump cheeks.  
"Hey, Catherine."  
"Who's...your friend?"  
"Not a friend. What whispers did ya hear?"  
"That you made an arrest."  
"Yeah. I did."  
"Me name's Arthur Kirkland." His seductive smirk resulted in a smack to the head.  
"Notorious pirate Arthur Kirkland."  
"I figured tha' wou'n' bes a goo' way to introduce me self."  
"Oh. If you don't mind my asking, why is he...?"  
"Shirtless? I shot him."  
"You shot him?" Surprise filled her features.  
"In self defense! Lord almighty, Catherine. You always think the worst of me."  
"You know I love you, Amelia, but sometimes you do worry me, running 'round with your guns and being all fierce and strong and..."  
"Unladylike?"  
"Shut up, okay?"  
"He has a little, itty bitty point."  
"No he doesn't!" My voice rose, and Arthur let out a sharp hiss of pain as I, in my temper, pulled the bandages much harder than necessary.  
"Sorry." I muttered, amending the issue.  
"Wa' make it up ta me?"  
"No."  
"Amy, is it a bad time?"  
"Uh, yeah. A little. Would you mind coming by tomorrow?"  
"Not at all."  
"God Bless."  
"God Bless!" She departed, leaving me alone with Arthur once more. His hat sat on my table, his coat strewn over it beside his shirt.  
"Yer a tad defensive, aye?"  
"No, I'm not."  
"Yer doin it now."  
I didn't respond, finishing with the bandages and unlocking the cell, untying the rope before I led him into the cell, throwing his shirt at him.  
"What about me hat?"  
"What do you need a hat for?"  
"Cos I be's a pirate, an' pirates need their hats, so give me me hat."  
"Actually, I think I'll just keep it." I let a grin grow on my face as I placed the large feathered hat on my head.  
"Oi! Take that off! Unless ye be a cap'n, I suggest ye take off me hat!"  
I couldn't hold back a laugh as an angrily, taken aback expression made its way onto his face. "Give it here."  
"No." I grabbed his jacket, placing it on my shoulders and standing straight. "How do I look?"  
He scowled, his green eyes holding his aggravation. "Does ye always be this juvenile?"  
"Depends. You're the one pouting over a hat."  
"/Me/ hat! Me cap'n hat!"  
"Seriously though, I look good, right?"  
He reached through the bars in an attempt to swipe it off my head, but I swerved away with a simple grin.  
"Ye still loo' like a harle', eve' mo' so, weari' me clo'es."  
"I'm not a harlet."  
"Really? Look a' yer dress, Bonnie."  
"I can't really run after criminals in a long skirt and corset."  
He let out one of those long, thoughtful hums of his, studying me. "Yer a rare one, ain't ye?"  
"So I've been told."  
"Give me me coat ba', a' least!"  
Laughter filled the room as I turned, his hand grasping only air where the coat at my hip had once been. For a moment, I let the collaborative, musky scent of rum, gunpowder, saltwater and a loud hint of sweat embrace me, and then scrambled to expel the thought of his arms, and not his scent alone, surrounding me.

_~Arthur Kirkland~_

My eyes narrowed in concentration, and taking advantage of Amelia's apparent distraction, I managed to snatch the back of my red coat, a smirk widening across my lips as I pulled her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist for a firmer grasp than I had on the coat, and she struggled against me as I stole back my hat. Not only did this result in my getting my captain's hat back, but it also won me Amelia's place in the crook of my arm.  
"Let me go!"  
"Hmm... Nay. I doesn't think I will."  
"Why the hell not?"  
"Why's ye think, me bitty vixen?"  
"Cuz you're a stupid jerk!"  
"Nay, me lass. Because, pretty poppe' o' mine, yer mu' be'er suited ta sit ri' here. In me arm. And aye, the coat does suit ye."  
"You smell like...stink."  
"Oh, quite original." I purred into her ear, my mouth gravitating towards hers, and I noted the hesitation held in the gentle tremble of her own plump lips. Before she drove her elbow into my crotch.

_~Amelia Jones~ _

Sitting on my bed in a room separate from my office and holding cell a short while later, my silence stretching the near whole hour that had passed since I took my leave of the vulgar, distasteful vagabond in my midst. He'd been calling at me the entirety of it, the meaning of most of the words and phrases he spoke were utterly lost on me, from the unusual way they rolled off his tongue or slid through his teeth to the sounds themselves that formulated the foreign words, to which they're true definition was, I had about as much a clue as the queen of the fairies who'd been dumb enough to fall for the man with the literal ass head. Except with one exception: the ass head with which I was associated had earned something of mine quite distant in meaning from love. Who could ever love a man like Arthur Kirkland? The idiotic, crude smirk constantly on his lips canceled out the potentially favorable structure of his jaw, and his inability to think of anything but brandy, bounty, and broads made the enigmatically startlingly handsome gleam of his forest green eyes lose absolutely all their luster in one's mind, his irrevocably ill tempered and cruel ways dulling any possible attraction that his physical appearance, no matter how astonishingly glorious, completely moot.  
"'Eyy! Me pre'y li'l doxy! Co' ba' eer! Don't be's so damned cold! An' fetch me a rum!"  
With a resigned yet aggravated groan, I threw my boot into the other room, hoping I'd be so lucky as to have it hit him square in the jaw and put him soundly to sleep for the night.


	3. Poker Face

Child's Play- Poker Face

~Arthur Kirkland~

Amelia didn't join me again that night. I found she could be horrendously stubborn when the fancy to be such washed upon her. The following day, however, I did see her. Her face was actually the first thing I saw, next to the blinding light of the scorching mid day American sun. "Get up, filthy piece of trash."  
"Ah. Good morning, ye big ball o' sunshine."  
She rolled her eyes, seeming to have resolved to detest me today. She wore the same man's variety of clothing, pants and a button up shirt, the first couple buttons were undone to reveal her still feminine form, the shirt small enough to allude to her figure. She wore nothing on her feet, and her hair held the same spring like nature from before, the shadow of a cowboy's hat draped over them. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the last button of the shirt, (which yesterday, had been tucked into her trousers), was unfastened, her skin peeping through. Accenting her facial features was a gently thin membrane of sweat, lining her brow, and the droplet that ran along her jaw led me to catch it's movement, and grasp the realization that she'd been speaking.  
"Wa?"  
"It's not morning."  
"Wha' were ye doing?"  
"Catching crooks. What do I always do?"  
"Where is he?"  
"Far away from here."  
"Wha? He gets special treatment!"  
"No."  
A smirk grew again on my lips. "I ge' special trea'ment?"  
She laughed. "Hell no. I ran him out of town."  
"He wouldn't listen?"  
She laughed again, a sarcastic yet twinkling sound. "Of course not. Never has."  
"Ye know him?"  
"You could say that. He's my brother."  
"Yer bro'er?"  
"Yeah. Matthew. When our parents died, we split the inheritance and Matt ran north, and I west. But I found out later that he'd discovered our parents real fund hidden in the wall and never told me."  
I couldn't prevent the laughter, loud and expanding, that left me.  
"What's so damn funny?"  
"The sheriff's brother is a common thief. Perchance we ain't so differen' as ye reckon, me bi'."  
"Me and you are nothing alike."  
"How so, Missy?"  
"You ignore the law, and I enforce it."  
"Nay, lass, I doesn't ignore the law. I just goes ou' o' me way to break it."  
"Exactly. I do the opposite."  
"Bu', we bof saw crime in our families, aye?"  
"Yeah, but you were the one commi-"  
"Now, Amelia, pretty li'l armful o' mine, catch yer wind fer a moment, an' bend yer ear ta this."  
"Whatever."  
"Me mum was a harlet, me father was a pirate, like his father befo' him, and me bro'ers were highwaymen."  
"Wait, really?"  
"Aye. Pirating is in me blood. Becau' o' it, I'm mo' than a meal fo' rats."  
"But, couldn't you have-"  
"In England, yer born poor, ye die poor. If ye was born rich, tha's how ye died, thankin' The Lord ye was in his favor. It's no' like yer country, sweet lips."  
"Oh."  
"So tha' leads to ye. Whys ye run?"  
"I came to California to make a life for myself. My parents weren't the best citizens when I was younger." She seemed about to go on, but caught herself opening up to me and shut herself away. "And here I am."  
"I've gots a lot o' time, chick, ye can tell me the whole story."  
"No thanks."

~Amelia Jones~

It was startling to find myself almost telling this filthy, horrible pirate my life story and the details. My eyes searched desperately for some kind of distraction, a way to change the topic of conversation. "Where's my boot?"  
"Oh, tha'? I'm no' givin it back."  
"What do you mean you're not giving it back?"  
"I'm keepin it."  
"Why in God's good name are you keeping my boot?"  
"Becau', i's something ta remember ye by."  
"Because you're going anywhere fast?"  
He shrugged, that same cocky smirk rising to his face. "I bes givin it back, o' course, if ye offer somethin' o' higher value."  
"Like?"  
"A meaningful kiss."  
"Hell no."  
"Rum?"  
I only laughed in response.  
"Me hat?"  
"No."  
"Me jacket?"  
"Possibly."  
"Wha' d'ye need me clothes fer? Unless yer tryin' to keep me as close ta naked as ye can."  
The way he grinned at me, the devil in his eyes made me want to vomit at the same time my heart stopped and started again.  
"No. No way. And if I was trying to do that, I would've kept your shirt."  
This sentence led me to notice the absence of this article of clothing.  
"Where is your shirt?"  
"In the corner where ye threw it."  
"Why?"  
"Because I like ta see yer face when ye look at me shirtless, me bi' o' fluff."  
"I don't make a face when I see you-"  
"Aye! Aye ye do! I's priceless, a'tually. All surprised and bothered." The smirk only grew, due to the apparent movements of my facial muscles. "That's a lie."  
"Nay, 'tis honest truth. Bu', be tranquil, I wonts speak a word to a soul, love."  
"Shut up."  
He laughed, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he possessed some higher knowledge that I had no inkling of.  
"Ye know, Amelia, there's this rule in pirating. An eye fer an eye, arm fer an arm."  
"What about it?"  
"Ye see, ye have a debt ye owe me. Two, actually."  
"How do you figure?"  
"Tha' rum I bough' ye, an' when I took me shirt off fer ya."  
"I was bandaging your shoulder!"  
"Aye, I owe ye a bullet to the shoulder too. Bu', I'll bes extra nice ta ye, since ye bes such a pretty li'l lass, and jus' le' ye off with the rum and shirtlessness."  
"You have my boot."  
He grinned and I could tell he'd already thought that through. He took off one of the boots on his own feet and lobbed it at my head.  
"Ow! What the-"  
"Boot ta the head fer a boot ta the head."  
"You know what? Fuck you."  
"Tha's no' very professional, bu' I'll oblige. Jus' unlock this door an' we can gets started."  
"Not like that!"  
"The' how?"  
The pirate grinned at my scowl, seated on the floor with a self assured look in his wondrously green eyes.  
"I should really just shoot you."  
"Ye a'ready did that."  
"But I won't miss this time."  
"Why ye always bes su' a sourpuss, 'melia?"  
"Because I dislike you, pirate. Greatly."  
"I does haves me a name, ye know."  
"And?"  
"I'm curious, see, as to why ye refuse ta say it."  
"A lady doesn't speak the devil's name."  
He laughed, his crouch falling as his laughter brought him more squarely on the ground. He took a swig from a flask he must have hid in his boot, eyes locking onto mine and refusing to let them free. "I'm the devil now?"  
"You've always been the devil."  
"So ladies shan't speak me name, but they can drinks me rum?"  
I responded only with a sigh and roll of my eyes, but he persisted. "Handsomely, sweet lips. Pronounce."  
"No."  
"Aye."  
His eyes never left mine and the unbroken contact was becoming unbearable. I looked towards the door for relief, though I felt that the sting remained as strong as before. Before I could register the movement, a hand was on my wrist, pulling me close to the bars of the cell, the other hand quickly coming to rest in the dip of the small of my back. He had stood when I wasn't looking, and now held me as close to his quite obviously bare chest as the metal bars would allow, his head ducked down so his ear rested dangerously close to my lips.

~Arthur Kirkland~

Her surprised breathing was clear to me, as was the delightful beat of her heart held so close to my own. The way it stopped at first, only to restart with a much faster tempo. I glanced upwards, but a slight tilt in angle, to see the widened shape of her eyes, the upwards curvature of her thin eyebrows, and the same soft quiver in her lips that she was frantically trying to hide. Her startled blue eyes were impossibly vibrant, a stark reminder of the beauty of the sky outside my prison cell. The urge to close the distance between my lips and hers was one with innumerable measure and relevance, though my thoughts were stolen by the fear in her eyes. Fear in the eyes of someone so close to me was not unusual, of course, however, this fear held it's origin in something quite different than death. Still rooted in pain, true, but not, I felt, the physical variety.  
"Let me go."  
"Mmm... Nay."  
Her body moved slightly against mine, but only insubstantial flirts of movement that changed nothing about her predicament. If anything, it resulted in my holding her closer, my grip firmer than before. "Stop struggling, me li'l tit."  
Her angry glare met my watching eyes, lit with humor as I pulled her hand into the cell to gently kiss the top of it, my lips pulling into an amused grin. My arm around her pulled her closer, whispering with a sinfully suggestive smirk. "Say me name. And please."  
"You're a sick bastard."  
"Flattery will get ye no where, Amelia. Easy now, an' speak."  
She let her bright eyes silently challenge me for a moment, before her lips parted. "Let. Me. Go. _Kirkland._"  
"Oh, nay, nay, nay! Tha' won' does, me wee bi' o' daintiness."  
"I hate you."  
"Discourse."  
"You'll let me go?"  
"Aye."  
"Fine. _Arthur Kirkland_ is a conniving, deceitful, idiotic fool." My grin widened as my fingers grasped the keys at her waist. I removed my arm with a smirk, hiding the treasure I'd acquired in my boot.  
"Asshole."  
"Bitch."  
The only reason she returned that day was to offer me something akin to food. Sitting by myself in the chill of the night, I smoothed over the surface of the key, many a thought running through my mind. I had many options. I could escape quietly now, perhaps rummage for my hat, coat and the boot she'd vengefully taken with her. Or, and this may have been the idea that brought the widest grin to my lips, I could wait till morning and take the bird with me. My crew couldn't be far, awaiting my eminent escape. I resolved then to do something rare in the total scheme of my behavior. I was going to kidnap a beautiful woman.


	4. Bull Shit

_HELLO! I'm sorry this is late! -Sydney_

* * *

Child's Play- Bull Shit

~Arthur Kirkland~

When I awoke the following day, Amelia was sitting at the desk in the room, concentrated solely on the paperwork she was slaving over. Immediately, I noted the difference in her that had occurred since yesterday. Her hair appeared properly curled, under the bonnet on her head. She wore a dress, an honest dress and lady like shoes. Her face was clean of any dirt or grime, and from what I knew of her figure, (plenty, considering I had nothing of higher value to do with my time), it was clear to me she even wore a corset.  
"What are ye all dressed up for?"  
"It's Sunday." She explained plainly, as if her reasoning was as clear as any.  
"Sunday?"  
"Yes. The Lord's day...?"  
"Oh. Tish. An' here I though' ye were dressin' up fer me."  
"No. Definitely not for you."  
Laughter traveled through the metal bars to reach her. "Tha's love, ri' there."  
"What?"  
"Wearing a corset for God."  
"How'd you-"  
"Puttin' me arm round ye twice is plen'y 'nough to know wha' yer waist loo's like. Trus' me, pigeon, a man woulds not soon fo'get."  
"Right. Can't you stop being a pig? Just for one day a week?"  
"I was complementin' ye."  
"That's complimenting?"  
"Aye."  
"So what's love then?" She seemed amused, turning to face me better.  
"Love? Easy. Don't exist."  
"What do you mean it doesn't exist? Of course it does."  
"Nay. Lust exists, no' love."  
"I don't think so, Arthur."  
"I know so."  
"How could you possibly know that?"  
"I've made love a time or two, me pretty armful."  
"Doesn't mean there was ever a chance of you actually loving any of them."  
"So wha' yer saying, 'Melia, is tha' ye need to open up to love?"  
"Shut up."  
"An' wha' makes ye think I di'n give them a chance?"  
"You wouldn't give anybody a chance."  
"Really? Anybody? Eve' if she wa'... Le' see... Wha' I' she was gorgeous? An' feisty."  
"What does that have to do with anything?"  
I shrugged, the amusement in her blue eyes lighting some kind of spark in me I was sure I'd lost long ago.  
"No woman will ever have a chance. Because you'll always be afraid of commitment."  
"I ain't afrai' o'-"  
"Anything but commitment." She cut me off, laughing softly, the first real laughter I'd heard from her, restricted by her corset.  
"I'll prove ye wrong, poppet."  
"Oh, really? What are you going to commit to?"  
"No' sure." The lie slid easily past my teeth. My commitment was easy enough to distinguish. I would commit whole heartedly to taking her with me on my ship. Soon. Preferably in her Sunday best, as it is, truly, her best.  
"Whatever."  
"Why? Ye seem very interested, Amelia."  
"I'm not."  
"Really?"  
"Really! I don't actually care at all. I was just... Bored."  
"Sure ye were."  
"I was!"  
I let the grin stretch on my face, and she turned away angrily to preoccupy herself with her work. I contented myself for a while just by watching her, her blue eyes scanning the words as she wrote things down on occasion, the brilliancy of the blue shade shaming the surroundings of the office and cell. Once she acclimated to being on the ship, she'd be a fine pirate, I was sure. My own little private- my thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the vicious shattering of glass.  
"YOU! YOU BASTARD!"

~Amelia Jones~

I distinctly remember the look on his face. At first, it probably closely resembled mine. Afterwards, however it became slightly more panicked.  
The woman was screaming at him, the mug broken on the wall next to him where he'd backed up away from her. I put a gentle hand on her arm.  
"Ma'am, calm down-"  
"No! That bastard took my money and my husband!"  
"I doesn't even knows you was married!"  
"That's a lie, you evil, no good-"  
"Excuse me!" I let my voice carry, stepping in between the two.  
"It is Sunday, and we should carry ourselves keeping that in mind!"  
"Oh, don't act all high and mighty because you look like a woman and not a common whore today. You'd still sell yourself at the first chance."  
"I'd never!" Arthur interjected before I could explode into a fiery mass of anger.  
"Belay and calm, now."  
"I bet you and this filth get along just fine." The suggestion itself made me want to strangle her, break her in half.  
"Nay. Unfortunately."  
"Stay. Out. Of. This." I hissed, my voice venomous.  
Arthur sighed, crossing his legs in front of him.  
"I am not a harlot. I've never done anything like that, and you know it! I'm not like you!"  
Arthur couldn't hold back a chuckle. "She's a Lo' pre'ier, too."  
"You'll be hanged for what you've done, Arthur!"  
"Don' say me name."  
She scowled before leaving in an angry cloud.

~Arthur Kirkland~

She studies me, the same amused expression on her face. Her nose scrunched in the strangest way, quirked to the side and imbedded with little wrinkles, a pretty childishness capturing her visage, replacing the harsh mask painted so carefully to hide it. "She can't say your name?"  
"Wha' can I say? Yer especially intriguing."  
"Of course I am."  
"Ye are." I couldn't explain why I kept talking. "Yer..."  
"I'm what?" She was looking at me expectantly, and I tilted back, taking a swig from my flask. "Yer... Yer a...rare opportunity."  
"A rare opportunity?"  
"Aye."  
"And what does that mean?"  
"Nay, nay, tha'll cost ye."  
"Cost me what?"  
"A kiss, rum, me boot, me hat, or me coat."  
"No way! You still have my boot!"  
"I'll be givin it back if ye give me yer corset."  
"You're a fool."  
"So I's been told."  
"Now, me payment?"  
"I'll give you your stupid coat."  
"Thank ye, me pretty armful."  
"Shut up."  
Immediately after she exited the room, leaving me unattended, I fished for the key in my boot and reached through the metal bars, the soft click of Freedom reaching my ears as I pushed the door open with a quiet creak. I found her pistols easy enough, sitting beside her desk where she'd been seated. I waited calmly, shuffling through the papers she'd been looking over after I found my second boot and put it on. When she returned, my coat draped over her arm, she froze at the sight of me.  
"How'd you!"  
"Ye misplaced yer keys, poppet." I smirked as I pulled my coat on, having already draped my shirt over my body. "Now bes a good gal ye, and fetch me me hat."  
She strode towards me angrily, the action halted as she noted the pistols in my possession, facing her. "Wif haste now."  
She made her way up the stairs, my hat in her hands when she returned. "There. I don't get why you need your hat to escape. And is the gun really necessary?"  
"I wonts want ye to have to be tied and gagged, see."  
She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Leave if you're going to."  
I let the smirk I'd been hiding till now escape. "One last thing, me armful."  
"And what's that?"  
"Yer coming with me."

* * *

_HEY EVERYONE! I hope you liked this! I feel as if this was shorter... oops! Interesting developments, huh? I LOOOOOOOOOOVE getting reviews! Please tell me how I'm doin!_


	5. The Jailbreak Card

Hello everyone! Chapter four! I hope you like it!

* * *

Child's Play- The Jailbreak Card

~Arthur Kirkland~

"No I'm not."  
"Aye."  
"No!"  
"Think again, me bi, 'cause yer comin wif me."  
"Like Hell I am."  
With a heavy sigh and an assured smirk, I cocked the pistol. "Ye will or Hell's wheres ye be going."  
"I hate you."  
"Le's be goin."  
"I'm not going to go with you, Pirate."  
"Really?" Her determined silence, and the crossing of her arms in front of her chest affirmed the thought.  
"Ha' it yer way, me pigeon."  
Amelia glared dangerously at me, and I simply took the rope on her desk in one hand, placing one pistol at my hip. "Get me sword."  
"No way!"  
"GET. ME. SWORD. Ye shrew!"  
She took her time, but eventually did bring it to me. I returned it to it's rightful place and pressed the pistol barrel under her chin. "Put yer hands behind yer back."  
"No."  
"Ye'll learns soon enough."  
With a turn of my wrist I spun her as to have her back rest against my chest, one arm wrapped tightly about her waist. "Ye'll learn."  
The pistol now sat hidden in the small of her back,teasing the fabric gently. I quickly and firmly bound her wrists, her rapid pulse easily detectable as my fingers graced the skin. A simple demand was spoken against her temple, assured and indisputable. "Walk."  
She did as she was told, although with a palpable air of rage drifting off her.  
I threw her on the mount of her horse, seating myself behind her as to hold her securely against me as I made my way back to the ship.

~Amelia Jones~

The ride wasn't pleasant. The pirate held me close to him, and every move of the horses hips rocked us against each other. He smelt just like his circumstance- a man who'd been at sea for months on end without bathing or common hygiene to deteriorate the stench and filth that naturally coated him like a slugs' secretion of slime. And it made me want to vomit. The pure odor of alcohol didn't improve the smell any either, and by the way Arthur was pressing me against him, partially hiding me best he could with his coat, I carried the misfortune of being draped in it. His hand pressed softly against the strings of my dress, and I was almost glad he didn't have me ride on my own accord. I hadn't the faintest of how to ride side saddle. Either way, by the time the sun had a good four hours left till sun down, I got my first glimpse of a pirate's ship. It was huge and magnificent, a large skull and crossbones etched onto a black backdrop flapped softly in the salty ocean wind, a curious number of lines that I assumed to be the portrayal of the captain's eyebrows sat atop the eye sockets.  
"She's a beau'y ain't she?"  
"She could do better than you."  
He just responded with a laugh, hauling me on board the ship and leaving my horse to it's own devices. Immediately, we were surrounded. At first, it felt like I was going to be clubbed, but the mob was quite harmless in their drunken stupors.  
"Oi! Ye lot! Lis'en up!"  
Many "Aye"'s and "Aye cap'n"'s resounded, before some mediocre order was found.  
"This is me Amelia!" He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. "She's a pre'y' li'l petticoat, aye?"  
"She the same sheriff, cap'n?"  
"Aye. In her Sunday best." Their inane laughter grated my ears, and my struggle was yet again useless.  
As one of the crew handed Arthur a rum, a plan began to formulate in my mind.

~Arthur Kirkland~

I knelt in front of the restrained Amelia. She was secured to the mast, after her attempt at escape. "Now yer in time ou', see? Ye gots ta listen."  
"I despise you."  
A hearty laugh left me, and I found I much enjoyed being captor and not captive.  
"Weigh anchor and set sail!"  
"Aye aye!"  
I made my way to the helm, shouting orders as I went.  
"Run me up more sail now! Get her under way! With haste!"  
Before long, the ship was finally in open waters.  
"Lemme out!"  
"'Re Ye go'n' ta behave?"  
"Maybe?"  
"Nay. Ye can't ge' ou' then."  
"Where are we going?"  
"To sell ye on the black market, me bi'."  
"Ha. Ha. Very funny."  
"An' ye think me's to be jestin', cos...?"  
"Because. You said I was interesting, right? And besides, what good would I be on the black market?"  
"Yer right. Yer too feisty fer most a 'em. I'm keepin' ya here fer meself, anyway."  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
Her voice was angry and sharp and brought a grin to my face.  
"What de ye think, me pre'y armful?"  
"I think you're a nasty, dirty old scumbag. Now please untie me? It's not like I can /go/ anywhere." The venom in her tone made me chuckle. "Fair. Ar'is'! Man the wheel!" A second man takes control, and I go to kneel in front of my little bounty. I carefully free her, taking hold of her waist as to keep her close and restrained. I lead her to my quarters, locking the door behind us in means of preventing her raising a chaos.  
"This is me chambers."  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious Kirkland." She rolls her blue eyes at me, walking around and inspecting everything, including the map on the table. Her small hands playing with the map reading instruments, walking one down the coast of China.

~Amelia Jones~

His stark green eyes followed my movements as I found a piece of black fabric.  
"An eye patch? Really?"  
"Aye."  
"Why?"  
"Jus' in case."  
I couldn't hold back soft laughter, eyes drawn then to the chest in the corner of the room, the captain's focus brought to it instantaneously. "Tha's no' fer ye to be messin wif, li'l missy." He spoke with a firm voice as he stepped in front of the item, making it quite affirmed that he was bent on keeping it close to him and far from me. "Nay, nay, I see the look in yer eyes. Yer ta stay a distance fro' it, lass. Clear?" The way his voice dipped into a fatally threatening tone, I had no choice but to reply softly. "Transparently."  
"Tha's a goo' gal, now." A stillness crept into the air, absent in the inability to sharply reply as I usually would, out in this unnatural state of carefully forced submission. The stated calm was broken intrusively by the high yelp of a distressed man of smaller stature, overcompensated for in the strange height of his pitch and voice. "Capitano!"  
"What, Feli?" His voice seemed exasperated, bothered rather than worried at the panicked Italian accent of the sailor's voice and gestures.  
"There's a ship!" He managed, looking behind him at the long approaching vessel. "I thought it was a smaller one, but it's flying the Jolly Roger, signore!"  
"Is it, now? Tha' complicates matters..." With a notably aggravated sigh that seems more akin to a groan, his fingers wrap around a spyglass on the desk. "Le's see it then."  
I followed behind as the two left the cabin, straining my eyes to see it as best I could. I could barely make it out on the horizon of the sea, but Arthur and Feli appeared to be aware of exactly what is was, and whatever that meant, it caused a substantial amount of concern as evident in the crease of his eyebrows as they pulled together in fiercely aggravated stress, lips pulled taught into an angry line. Raising the spyglass to his eye, the rage translates into something much more sadistic and cruel. A ravenous malice coats his features, plainly apparent in the wicked smirk, confident stance and the twin gleams of a green eye and metal blade. "Get below, Amelia. And mind yer noise."  
"What? Why?"  
"We be's goin' ta war, li'l one." The dangerous glint of his eyes was unlike the hunger usually residing there. And I knew it's name. _Bloodthirsty._  
"Prepare yer stations, men! Rip 'em up and slash 'em down, ye lot! Show no quarter!"  
I was ushered quickly down to the lower decks to the chorus of shouts and calls of the pirates' obvious excitement.  
"Makes no sound, savvy?"  
"Only if you give me a gun."  
"It's fer yer own safety, ye witch."  
"I'll die without a gun, won't I?" He studied me for a moment. "Oh, come on. I can't shoot you. You're insurance as far as the crew goes."  
"Honest." He hands me the pistol he brought, with a murmur to remain "unseen, unheard, and unknown" before returning to the surface to direct his ship and prepare for the imminent battle.  
"Wha' will we be's?"  
"Strong an' sure, Cap'n!"  
"Aye, aye! An' ruthless ta boot! Fly ou' colors, now! Paint the sky and sea alike red!" A deafening roar of shouts and yells rolled on the salt swept wind, furling the sail, pushing The Empirical closer and closer yet towards her enemy.  
"We'll's board and capture! Let none of the yellow bellies live! An' we'll be's hangin' fake cap'n Bonnefoy's bleedin' carcass as our figgerhea'!"

* * *

OOOOOOOOOOH! SUSPENSE! SO! The French and The English will be at it again! I LOVES ME SOME PIRATE THREATS!

REVIEW FOR COOKIES!


	6. Battle Ship

**~Amelia Jones~**

A shot rang out as soon as Arthur declared them close enough to open fire. They were allowed to board as some of the crew made their way likewise to search for the bounty to be found, and I could hear a malignant French accent colliding brutally with the cocky tone that was so easily distinguishable to me as Arthur's. "Tirsty to loze more plunde', Artur?"  
"Ye'lls not be's findin' me treasure thi' time round, Francis. I'm afraid I hasn't hid it in Davy Jones' locker, aye?"  
"Ah, smart today, oui? Longe' ze fall, Artur."  
"Aye, I be's aware. Why de ye think I built ye up?"  
A shout rang dully, soaking like the dead man's blood from his wound through the wood. I crouched some as I heard the creak of the stairs retaining some stress that quickly followed the slam of the hatch, and waited, preparing myself for whatever was coming.  
"Empty? Not even a trap? How unusual..." The man slunk about, and I caught but glances of the blue clothing he wore. I vaguely connected him to the name Francis, the captain of the other ship. "How... Intriguing."  
_Shit._  
He knew something was down there. What he thought it was, I wasn't so sure. I was positive in this though. He knew it was something of value.  
A slight swoosh of the air accompanied the rapidly moving blade as it stopped in front of my neck. "Oh. A femme."  
I scowled, scooting backwards into a kneeling crouch, pistol pressed to his forehead.  
"Touché. I see we've hit an impasse."  
The slam of the hatch was loud and definite this time, the resonating sound of boots hitting the wood as another man approached, my voice ringing through the space in protest of Francis' hands- or, rather, their placement- as I pressed the heel of my shoe into his foot.  
"Amelia." The dark growl was foreboding and aggressive. "What. Did. I. Tell. Ye?"  
"It wasn't my fault, damn it! I was quiet, don't be stupid."  
"So she is yours?"  
"Aye. An' I's will be appreciatin' her promp' return." Arthur grasped my arm with a painful strength, yanking me firmly out of Francis' grip.  
"My apologies. I just figured she was far too pretty for you." The gleam in the Frenchmen's eyes was strange, suggestive towards me and insulting towards Arthur, or, that was how he assumed it.  
"She came afte' me, if I be's rememberin'."  
"I was arresting you!"  
"Mum. Be seen, not heard. Lord knows ye need the practice." The finality pushed me into a temporary yet angry silence, and, due to the circumstances, I didn't fight the captain's arm around my waist.  
"Arrested him? You were a...?"  
"Sheriff."  
"Ah. Sheriff Amelia... I'm sorry, ma belle, I didn't catch your last name."  
"Jones."

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

I hid the growing rage well. She was falling right into Francis' idiotic flirting game. Spinning her to face me, her back to the enemy, one green eye trained on him whilst I spoke plainly and quietly in her ear. "Ye willt not be lettin' him toy wif ye. Ye understan'? I's his favori' game ta play."  
"It's not that different from what you do, is it?"  
My grip on her shoulders tightened exponentially. "I. Am. NOTHING. Like. HIM. D'Ye understand, Amelia?"  
"Yeah."  
"Do as I say. Don' lis'en ta a word he says. Not one."  
"I'll do what I want with my own ears."  
"Won't you allow me to kiss your hand, my dear?"  
"Uh, no. Definitely not."  
She scowled at my snicker, but couldn't ignore the possessively proud glimmer in my eye.  
"Now, Bonnefoy. I believes I owe's ye somethin'."  
"Quoi?"  
"Aye. I promised me crew swift revenge."  
"O-oh. Let's make a bet, then, shall we?"  
"An' wha's tha'?"  
"A sword fight. A duel."  
"Lame."  
"Excusez moi?"  
"I said, _Lame._ Sword fighting is boring. What about..."  
A wicked smirk grew on my personage, spotting the advantage Amelia had gifted me. "Knives. We'll fight with knives."

**~Amelia Jones~**

I didn't mind the fight. If I was lucky, they'd kill each other and I'd be rid of both of them, and the world would be that much better for it. Soon, in an intense rush, Arthur held Francis firmly to the ground, a metallic blade piercing the blue fabric of his coat to the floor. As quickly as I believed him to have lost, the tables turned and my confidence dwindled. They'd agreed on their gamble with these terms; Winner would walk with the bounty on both ships, which, according to the pirates, included me. And something in Arthur's eyes made me believe that if he lost, he'd rather see me dead than sailing on Francis' ship. It was a toxic possessiveness, harsh and sharp, holding a telling resemblance to the cutlass often at his hip.  
A brilliant crimson draped forth from the location on Arthur's bicep where Francis plunged his dagger. With a mad glare, the Englishman dug his own short blade into the Frenchman's side, promptly resulting in his incapacitation.  
"I think I'll be's taking me prize now, aye, Bonnefoy? Colle' the plunde', boys!" He shouted the last demand as he wrapped an arm tight around my waist, pulling me closer and away from Francis, it seemed. His eyes never strayed from the loser as he made to kiss my ear, lips gracing the skin as he whispered. "I won ye fair an' square, see? Ye belong ya me, nows, lassie." He cursed some profanity under his breath at the rising discomfort the movement of his arm caused him.  
"Get him off me boat and take all the plunder ye can, ye dogs. Amelia. Come wif me."  
"Why?"  
"N' stop askin so many questions." He let go of me, expecting me to follow as he unlocked the door to his quarters. I entered behind him, disappearing into the cabin alongside the captain, setting to work.  
I will not explain in excruciating detail again the dressing of his wounds, as I tried to purge the grotesque vision from my memory, but I will travel to my thoughts during this time. As the many wounded attempted to recover on the otherside of the wooden door, I discovered the deepened plague, the epidemic, the brutish beast roaring it's dreadful cry of Piracy. A savage monster, the thing took victims constantly, seemingly immortal after centuries of practiced devilry and utmost black sin. What cloud of evil descending upon the seas, the familiar black flag that hung by their masts, draped across the wet surface of the seven wayward oceans. It was an honest sickness, I thought, and it was perhaps why I was here, to eradicate at least one fatal instance. What then, this made me venture to wonder, was the cure? Was it the infamous gibbet? In order to do my part in ridding the world of piracy, was I indeed obliged to drag Arthur into the shackles of such an early and cruel death?

* * *

OMG GUYS I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY LATE.

EXCUSETIME!

1. This week HAS BEEN CRAZY

2. I had a sleepover last last Saturday and was gone ALL day last Saturday.

3. I had a beautiful plot for this story. And then Captain Kirk(land) and his crew ran off with my main character and MY FANTASTICAL PLOT! So I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with that. Right now I basically only have the next chapter planned out before I have to start crack a lackin on a new plot.

4. My sleep over was with my beautiful wife, (Lawl, I'm not actually married or a man) a fellow Hetalian and so it led to RP and now we're both writing GilbertXGilbird Fanfiction.

NOT AS CRACK AS IT SOUNDS I SWEAR!

I've decided to call the pairing Prubird. XD But that's distracting me since I actually have A FUNCTIONING PLOT DAMMIT! DX

So, I might be updating less frequently though I will try, alright? Again, I truly apologize. Any plot ideas are welcome.

So, any French you don't understand, just ask for a translation and I'll give it to you. I'm actually in French II so I kind of know stuff! WHOA! Same thing with Pirate speak, because I know it can get pretty damn intense.


	7. The Name Game

Child's Play- The Name Game

**~Amelia Jones~**

By the time Arthur's wounds were wrapped, night had descended upon _The Empirical_ like a shroud to keep "her" (Arthur insisted that _The Empirical_ not be referred to as it) warm in the chill surrounding her, and the waves below rocked the ship back and forth with the soft crashing lullaby the resounding noise sang.

At least, that's how Arthur would have it described. I found it nearly nauseating. There wasn't much space to roam, and of this confined area, not one square centimeter was free of the smell of the salt water and harsh sea air. According to the captain, today was going to be just simply treading water, a day of sailing and not much more. I intended to rest, though the crew had other ideas.  
"Oi, lass, ye be nots standin' idle, aye?" The fiery mass of red hair caught my eye.  
"What do you want?"  
"Fer ye ta come b'low decks with me mates."  
I laughed curtly in a quick response.  
"What'll it take, Bonnie?"  
The Scotsman smirked at me, his curls of smoke drifting from the cigarette hanging from his lips, pulled into a distinctly hungry smirk.  
"Iain! Bugger off, wills ye?"  
"An' why Shou' I?"  
"Cap'n's orders." The growl was low and threatening as an all too familiar arm wrapped itself comfortably around my waist and drew me nearer to the Captain's side.  
"Ye may be cap'n, Arthur, but yer still me wee baby brothe'. And a lass'll always be a lass, no matters how keen ye are fer her."  
He began to speak when Feliciano, the cook, ran up to me, tugging on my hand. Even this smallest of threats to Arthur's possession of me brought him to pull me closer yet to him.  
"Bella~ Bella~ Come meet everybody~" The ring of his voice was high and surprisingly childlike.  
"Uh, sure."  
Arthur studied the harmless cook for a moment before letting me go, leaving him to settle a score with his older brother, who I was dying to talk with.  
Feliciano pulled me down below decks and to a series of tables set for gambling, hidden from Arthur's knowledge. The air was heavy with the scent of liquor, mixing to a potent stench of sea and alcohol and filth.  
"Bella! Bella~! This is everybody~! Jack, Matthias, Thomas, Yao, Andrew, and Henry~!"  
"Hey! What about me?"  
"This is Peter, the capitano's half nephew."  
"Yes! Peter Kirkland! I'm going to be the greatest pirate ever, you know!"  
"Yer a cabin boy, Pete, don't get proud, ye know how annoyed the cap'n wills be gettin'."  
"And you not even pirate, Aru."  
"I am too a pirate, and a good one!"  
"There's no such thing as a good pirate."  
Silence followed my remark.  
"Oh, tha's right, ye was a wannabe sheriff, wasn't ya?" Thomas was American, from the east coast, by the way he spoke.  
"A sheriff. Not a wannabe sheriff."  
"If you're a sheriff, why did Arthur bring you on board?"  
"Why do ye think, ye git. Use yer bleedin' head."  
"He's only 12, Andrew."  
"But I'm more of a man then he'll ever be!"  
"See wha' happens  
when ye encourage him, Henry?"  
"Ah~ Andrew~ Calm down~"  
"Aye, mate, yer a tad high strung, yeah?"  
"Oh, shut it, Jack!"  
"Don't be mindin' em. Have a drink."  
"What accent is that?"  
"Danish, miss. Liquor?"  
"I don't drink."  
Silence filled the small area, made smaller by the sheer body heat tainting whatever air remained to breath. "Not even a little?" Little Peter looked up at me in confusion. "But... Beer is safer than water..."  
"I don't sail. I stay on land."

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

"Iain, ye gots ta back o' her."  
"An' why's tha', ye wee baby?"  
"'Cause she's mine. An' I gone through Hell to ma'e I' tha' way."  
"That's ne'er stopped me befo', aye?"  
"This is different." The words were a low growl. "You'll's bes leavin' me bi'd be, ye understand? Belay. And. Veer._ Brother_."  
"Aye, aye, be tranquil."  
I took my leave of him, a much needed break from my brother as he lit a cigarette.  
I followed the stench of my crew to find my prize packed into the lot of smelly sardines. I replaced Jack's hand on her waist, smacking it away in an ill contented manner. "What's on?"  
"Just... Musings, cap'n."  
"Musings?"  
"Uh, aye."  
"'Bout Amy! She doesn't very much like pirates, Arthur!"  
"Oh, is tha' righ'?" I let the wicked grin spread on my features. "How interesting, Pe'e'." I whispered the last few words somewhere in between her neck and shoulder, pulling her into a position in which she faced me.  
"Get off me. You reek of alcohol."  
"We alls do. Even ye've gots a tad bit a liquor ta ye. Ye been drinkin'?"  
I let her slightly corrupted scent reach my nose, inhaling the stench of beer stuck to her unbelievably soft skin. "Hmm..."  
"I haven't been drinking."  
"Aye. Don' lie, 'Melia." The whisper was hushed, pressed under her jaw.  
She grumbled softly under her breath, turning her face away from me, trying to evade my lips, and the impending threat and intimacy of a kiss that it carried.

**~Amelia Jones~**

"Back off."  
"Mmm... Nay."  
The closeness of his lips was unnerving, my skin forming goosebumps the moment his lips met the surface of my jaw, breath hitching in a painfully obvious break in its fast tempo. I made a fatal error then. I looked towards him, to his face, the gleaming, predatorily proud smirk as he took my chin in his fingers. There was no way I was going to let this be- and then he kissed me. It was soft and deep and it was gentle and harsh, it was gradual but had a fierce underlying passion, and something told me it didn't last long, though the time it filled in my mind wasn't chronological at all. Even now, it continues at I recall it forth from my memory. His lips melded to mine in an intense collision of heat and emotions that's existence was yet not entertained in our minds. It was nothing at all like I thought it would be. Not that I'd ever thought through a scenario in which my lips might meet the captain's, but it wasn't simply the touching of skin- lips, nor was it nearly as repulsive as I would have assumed. It was startling, compelling and completely shattered every thought I'd thought about Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

I will soon be writing Child's Play Chapter X. I've got the next two chapters written and am working on chapter nine as we speak. So, I've decided that I would like to do something special for Chapter X. I plan on making it a little longer, but there's something else I'm doing.

Any ideas would be extremely useful.

I may do something along the lines of accepting requests for plot or characters, or a section of the chapter written in another characters POV. PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR IDEAS AND FEEDBACK ON MY CELEBRATORY GIFT!

Not gonna lie, Scotland got me through this. XD

_**3 Scotland 3**_

Hope you liked ;D **REVIEWS PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE**


	8. Tug Of War

Child's Play- Tug Of War

~Arthur Kirkland~

It wasn't the first time I'd kissed a woman. It wasn't even remotely close to it. And it wasn't the best kiss I'd ever shared either. But it was distinguishable different. And the instant murmurs and sounds of a recently miffed and drunk group of extremely competitive men, having all been challenged by the advance I'd made on the beautiful Amelia. My hand rested comfortably above her hip.  
"Can I have a kiss too, Bella~?"  
She didn't respond. In actuality, she seemed quite paralyzed. Otherwise, I'm sure she would have struck me.  
"Finally bein' seen an' not heard, aye? I stunned her into silence, I did."  
"My turn, then!" Matthias took her hand but I kept her securely out of his grasp. "Nay, it doesn't bes."  
Feliciano pecked her cheek, taking her hand, but made a small squeal at the deathly expression forming on my features.  
"Back. Off."  
"Ye gots ta share!"  
"Nay! She's mine!"  
Then a small fist collided with the side of my head. "YOU BASTARD!"  
She must've rejoined the realm of consciousness.  
"Oi! You wasn't fightin' it then!"  
"I... I was surprised!"  
"Aye! Pleasin'ly so!"  
Before I could much react, she was swept into Jack's embrace, his arm around her waist and his hand holding hers as if they were going to dance. He went to kiss her, and prepared to abolish the possibility, (if it meant cutting off his lips, so be it), my defense was interrupted. A hand took Amelia's with a tender hold, though causing severe pain to Jack's hand. Iain placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled _my_ Amelia closer, whispering in her ear. "Fancy seein' ye 'gain, lassie."  
"Oi! Iain! Fuck off!"  
"Hol' yer clack, wi' yes?"  
I could see the frustration and rage growing subtly in her features as they argued, till it exploded into mechanical energy as she jabbed an elbow into my brothers gut, twisting his arm and brought his upper body to the wooden floor, unknowingly bringing herself into a position in which my crew could, and happily would, render her defenseless.  
"Yer causin' quite a fuss, aye?" I pulled her up from her crouch to look her in the eye with a dark, warning glare. "Ye'll's be stayin' in me cabin, savvy?"  
"Savvy."  
"And ye lot. Despatch an' ge' abou' yer several duties. Handsomely!"  
I draped an arm around her, bringing her tight alongside me, and led her to my cabin, securely locking it behind us. "Ye'll be's more careful, aye?"  
"Don't tell me what to do." She scowled malcontentedly, and the anger under the surface, caused by the friction of some misguided rage and the sting of betrayal burst into a powerful growl.  
"Don't. Be's tellin' me nay, ye fuckin' li'l shrew!"  
"What the hell are you yelling at me for?! I didn't do anything wrong!"  
"Nothing wrong?"  
"No! Nothing! It's like your blaming me for holding the rest of the men's' attention!"  
"Ye were drinkin' with 'Em!"  
"Because I was thirsty! You don't have any damn water on the entirety of this fucking shitty little ship!"

~Amelia Jones~

Instantly, a lethal blackness resided within his searing glare. His grip on my wrist grew excruciating, and in a series of steps and movements and a harsh shove, I was delivered into an empty, decrypt, and fairly moldy smelling room. The door shut out any light there once had been. "...Arthur? Arthur! Hey! Let me out of here! YOU ASSHOLE!"  
There was no response, leaving me to curse "under my breath", though at a deliberate volume. I didn't want my discontent going unnoticed. I could hear Arthur speaking to someone. And the person conversing in turn in a slightly terrified Italian accent.  
"B-b-but~ Capitano~~ I doa not a... Knowa better! Da kissing on da cheek... It... Isa... Tradition in da Italia, ci~?"  
"Aye. But that cheek isn't yers ta be kissin'."  
"But Amelia cananot kiss a her own a cheek!"  
"It bes not hers eithe', Feliciano. It be's mine."  
"Aye, Capitano~"  
"IS NOT! MY CHEEK IS MY OWN YOU FILTHY-" His boot collided loudly with the floor above me.  
"OI! HIST!"  
"I DONT THINK I WILL!"  
"Capitano~ Dat is not how to controla women~"  
I couldn't help but think what Feliciano knew about controlling women, but their voices dropped, leaving their conversation to my imagination. I figured it was something to do with women, and rum, or something of that sort.  
After Feliciano, Arthur spoke with Jack and Matthias.  
"Ye lot. Ye should know yer place by now, aye?" The soft scuff of his boot on the floor painted the image of him crossing an ankle over the other, resting upon his desk, one hand on its surface, the other around a bottle, wetting his lips after speaking. "So, explain ta me why yer bein's so demmed stupid."  
"We ain't seen a woman since... What was it, Jack?"  
"Somewhere farther in Europe, aye?"  
"Aye!"  
"Ye skipped Hong Kong and California."  
"Hong Kong don't count! And Amelia _is_ California." Matthias argued, lenient.  
"She's _me_ California. And it be's best fer ye if ye mind it."  
They huffed softly and left, followed by a sigh of exasperation. "Arses."  
"You're one to talk."  
"Good night, Amelia."  
"What? You're not gonna leave me down here, are you?"  
"It's not like yer bes alone. Ye've the rats fer company."  
"I hate you."  
"Ye hate that you love me."

~Arthur Kirkland~

When I was sure of her sleeping state, I opened the hatch, making my way below to find her curled into a small rumpled mass of dress. "Sleepy, aye?" With a small noise of indignation, I knelt, scooping her up in my arms and carrying her out of the room, laying her down in my bed. It was strange, having a woman in my bed without sleeping with her. A gorgeous virgin, no less. I thought back to the last time I'd slept with a woman without doing anything, including sleep. I had been young, and me and my mother and brothers were on the streets. Being the youngest, my mother had held me close to her when she slept, to keep me from freezing in the frigid English nights.  
I quickly shook the thought from my mind, resting my hat on my desk next to my coat and shirt, my boots on the floor. I took a final swig of my rum before throwing the bottle on my coat. Slipping into place beside Amelia, I could smell the sweet taste of her breath, and I let my knuckles brush the gentle curve of her cheekbones. I'm not sure how long I must've stayed there, having some irrevocable need to memorize each facet of her physiognomy, though the time seemed indefinite, ending softly as my hand drifted to her hip and my mind into the greedy clutches of sleep.


	9. The Game

Child's Play- "The Game"

**~Amelia Jones~**

Waking up the next morning was a strange and confounding experience. The first thing I noted was the softness underneath me, and the smell around me. It reminded me of Arthur, a purer scent, the sting of alcohol tainting it less then it had previously, allowing the salty, harshness of it surface, though a third layer hid beneath the brine of the second. It was still crisp, a bitter yet vulnerable odor, much like mint. There was also citrus, not uncommon for sailors to smell of, due to the ingestion of lemons to prevent Scurvy. The combination was nothing like that of the molding prison I'd been previously occupying. I was yet again in the upper portion of the cabin, and paranoia got the better of me when I realized my corset was gone, only to remember I'd taken it off the previous night to allow myself an ease of breathing.  
Upon sitting up, I saw a piece of paper on the desk. I was struck by the fluidity of his writing. How could the bastard son of a whore and a pirate have such high a level of literacy? I read it over, the eloquence of the words far inferior to that of his penmanship.

_Amelia,_

_Stay in the cabin where you will not cause an unnecessary distraction to the crew._

_I will be in to check on you, and if you must, allow you the responsibility of aiding Feliciano in the cooking._

_Captain Arthur Kirkland_

His signature below seemed practiced, precise and quite perfected. Taking this rare opportunity, and putting it to good use, I set to investigating every aspect of the room.

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

I barked another order at my wayward sailors, annoyed by their lack of focus and my own inability to expel the feeling of emptiness draped over my arms where Amelia had been when I awoke. She'd turned to face me in her sleep, (bringing me to note the absence of her corset), and had hidden her face in my bare chest, balled hands brought to rest there as well. It had taken an overwhelming amount of effort to rise from my bed and chamber. My last action prior to doing so was to kiss her hand and temple, the gentle whisper of her taste hanging still upon my lips, a welcome stain. Though the lingering sentiment of tenderness was a festering infection of which I would have gladly been purged.  
"Capitano~? Are you alright~?"  
"Hmm? Aye! Of cerse I am!"  
"You seem distracted~"  
My voice was an angry snap. "I'm not! What do ye want, Feli?"  
"It Issa time for alunch~ Ci~? Ci~?"  
"Aye. And?"  
"Uh, c-can I hava Amy to helpa me~?"  
I sighed, heading towards the cabin. I unlocked and opened the door, entering to find her tinkering with my things. "Yer awake."  
"You can write?"  
"Again with the questions, 'Melia?"  
"That was just one, but don't worry, I have a bunch more."  
"Come 'ere."  
"No."  
I rolled my eyes at her pointless stubbornness, taking her hand and pulling her closer than I had intended. She was resting against my chest before she recovered, and I had to wrap another arm around her waist to keep her there. My hand slip up her arm to rest under her jaw, thumb on her cheek. I leaned in and for the second time, kissed her.  
"Hey! Get off!" She pushed my face away, an angry scowl left on her lips. "That's exactly why I didn't want to 'come here'!"  
"Tut tut. I only kissed ye because ye was tryin' to get away."  
"Then what the Hell do you want?"  
"I figured ye bes wantin' ta get out of here, but if that's the case..."  
"No! I do! You'll let me go back on deck?"  
"Nay, definitely not. As a woman's place is both in the bed chamber and the mess hall, I be figurin' ye'd aid Feliciano in makin' lunch, aye?"  
I wasn't expecting the intense display of pure rage that followed.  
"YOU SEXIST BASTARD!"  
She started throwing punches, her small fists seeming to carry more weight than one would assume, and Feliciano quickly hugged her from behind, trying his damnedest to restrain her.  
"Bella~ Bella~ It'll be lossa fun~ Ci~? Pleeeease~? Bella~ Stop puuunching~!"  
"I'm goin' ta show you where your place is you unbelievably narcissistic *douchebag!"  
"If yer implying that women put me in their vaginas at least monthly, yer not wrong."  
"If we weren't on a boat, and I had my guns, you'd /so/ be dead by now!  
"Big talk from such a little figure, aye?"  
"For the sake of the ever loving God, can you stop being such a conceited PIG?"  
"If I weren't a pig, what would I be?"  
"A decent human being?"  
"Decent? Honestly? What man is ever truly decent, bi'd? Name me one. Yer father perhaps? Nay, ye know him not well 'nough. Yer brother? Nay, common thief."  
"I'll name you one. George Washington."  
"Ye knew him?"  
"...no! But! But I know he was a good man!"  
"But he was in the war, aye?"  
"Yeah. He was a general."  
"So he took a wealthy number of lives, aye?"  
"That's totally different! He was protecting his men and his country!"  
"Wha' me an' me men do is protect ourselves, 'Melia."  
She fell silent, turning away from me. She was obviously upset about one thing or another. Feli's arms tightened about her waist as he nuzzled into her neck.  
A low growl from me was met by Amelia ignoring me all together.  
"C'mon, Feli. Let's go make lunch."  
"AAAH~ Ci~ Ci~~ Lunch~! Issa gonna be sooo yummy~ veee~~"  
She let Feliciano drag her out of the cabin, and as she tried not to let me see her look back, I didn't allow her the scene of me watching her walk away. I sat in my cabin, hands folded atop my knees. I closed my eyes, but her image just danced upon my eyelids, illuminated by the sun behind them. She had taken root in my mind, and refused to leave, and something told me, she was my punishment for all the wrong I'd done. Though, in retrospect, Amelia was probably the best God damned punishment I'd ever received. She was definitely better looking. And she was no ticking crocodile, or, "clockodile."

* * *

Arthur lost "The Game". XD

You know you love me.

*I'm aware, Douchebag wasn't an exactly common place phrase for this time period, but it's so perfect there!

MY FAVORITE CHAPTER SO FAAAAAARRRRRRRRR Some interesting developments, yeah?

NEXT WEEK=CHAPTER TEN! Tell me any ideas you think should be in the milestone chapter!

REVIWS=COOKIES AND MY ETERNAL LOVE AND ADORATION

It absolutely makes my week to get even one review, and I love talking to you awesome people! You review, and I WILL answer!

Love you all!

SydneyLa


	10. The Joker

**~Iain Kirkland~**

The whole demeanor of the ship had changed. It was a dangerous intensity, festering and building. I breathed it in, enthralled by the subtle chaos creaking in the boards we stood on. I was keeping watch, making sure the boys did their work.

And debating how to incorporate the newest addition to the plot into my plan. The crew trusted me enough already. The kindling was set, the logs placed strategically to roar into an unstoppable blaze with the kiss of a spark. And that was the last thing I needed. A spark. And luckily for me, my little brother had provided the perfect match to bring the fire of mutiny to light. I'd take his bird, and then his crew, and lastly, his ship along with it's treasures. And I'd leave Arthur to rot, turn him in for a large reward to get me started. Now all that was left to think on was how to go about capturing the dove. Or, more appropriately, the eagle.

I was getting tired of songbirds anyhow. They're quick to tame, and there's no fun in that, but luckily, for me it seemed, I was in for the sort of challenge I craved and deserved.

I set easily to distinguishing in what way I would acquire her, and as I stood in the shadows listening to her speak with Feliciano, the tilt at the end of her sentences, curving them into gentle questions gave me the vessel through which I would gain the irreplaceable pawn.

"Ye ask a lot of questions, don' ye, Bi'd."

"Yeah. What about it, Scotty?"

I found her nickname for me rather amusing, and thus leaned against the wall, letting my eyes take her shape in. "I figered ye have ques'ns 'bout me brothe', aye? An', I thought ye might like ta know that I have answers."

"What kind?"

"The kin' he wouldn' wan' me tellin' ye." The way her lips tugged upwards at the corner made me smirk. Good.

"Alright. First question. How did Arthur become a pirate? 'Cause I don't think that kind of thing just happens."

And, in closely related terms, this is the story I conveyed to her.

Arthur was the youngest son of an Emmeline Thomas, a poor woman with sharp cheek bones that would have been much prettier had they been rounded by a layer of sustenance under her skin. She spent her life by a port, waiting for her sea born lover to return to her, hoping perhaps one day he would stay. But her patience was never rewarded, as he was captured and killed by the French Government. In fact, Arthur only ever met his father once. He was a powerful man, a smug quirk to the smirk that constantly sat on his lips. He ruffled the young Arthur's hair and then, with barely enough time for the little boy to memorize his features, the late Captain Kirkland was gone with the wind, riding the waves that took him far away again from the impoverished family and the sickly mother. Emmeline died but a few months after her Pirate's death, from heart break or tuberculosis, no autopsy would reveal. Arthur, only about 13 at the time, left for the port where they held his father's ship. And after he was taught how to sign his name, he pledged his allegiance to the crown, vowing to use the vessel to carry news and cargo across the seas. Whether he left the port with the premeditated intention of going rogue or not, go rogue he did. He weeded through a good number of potential crewmates, as he has his own peculiar technique that he goes about picking them with. He only let me join the crew to keep me from joining someone else's.

"He told me his brothers are highwaymen."

"Aye. He wa'n' keen on us mee'in', I figger, b'rd."

"Though, if he really didn't want us meeting he shouldn't have brought me on board."

"Tha-"

"'Melia! Cap'n wants to see ye!"

"One second, Peter!"

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

My feet rested on my desk, one ankle resting on the other. I was brushing a finite piece of dust or something of the sort off the large feather adorning my hat when she walked in.

"What d'you want, Arthur?"

"I's just been thinkin' ta meself how it seems we neve' gets to talk no more, aye?"

"Funny. 'Cause I feel as though already we've talked more than enough to last me my entire life."  
"Yer a cold one, ain't ye, shrew?"  
She rolled her eyes and leaned against one of my cabinets. The light that set fire to the small particles of dust illuminated the side of her face in such miraculous beauty that the sarcastic frown failed to appear loathing. The gentle curl of her fingers around the edge of the wooden cliff was relaxed, as was the rest of her stance.  
"What?"  
I responded the only way I knew how. With a smirk and an egotistical "Jus' assesin' me merchandise."

She turned, as if she was about to exit and escape me somehow on my own ship.

"Sit down."

She remained standing, crossing her arms in a stubborn difficulty.

"I need clothes."  
"How?"

"Clothes. _Pants_. I can't handle this dress much longer."

"Oh, tha's right. Nearly fergot yer a crossdresser."  
"I'm not a crossdresser! I appreciate the idea of_ motion_."

"Can't ye just borrow some?"

"No. None of these guys' clothes'll fit me."

"High maintenance li'l tit." The words were quiet under my aggravated groan. "I don' need ta be gettin' ye anythin'. An' if I does, it'll be cos'in' ye."

"It'll cost me? And you expect me to pay the bill how?" A slender eyebrow rose in question.

"I believe, traditionally, me pre'y armful, when money isn' in the exchange, debts are payed wif favors."

"I don't want to owe you anything."

"If ye pay up now, I'll be owin' ye, aye?"

"What kind of favor are we talkin'?"

"Wha' kin' d'ye think? Afterall, I am, a... wha' did ye call me?"

"A pig."

"Aye. A pig."

"I'm not making love with you if that's what you want."

"I won't make ye do anything ye won' be's wantin' ta." I smirked. "Me price is the same, 'Melia. A kiss."

"And my answers the same too. No way in _Hell_."

"Now, now, don' be so cold, me bi'd."

"I'll be whatever damn temperature I want to be."

"Tha's a shame. 'Cause icebergs sink ships ye know. Don' get ta wear pan's either."

"I hate you."

"I thin' we's been through this before."

"Do I really have to kiss you?" The detest with which she said it made me chuckle softly.

"The soonest we'll's be portin' is Victoria, an' if ye miss tha', ye won' be gettin; pan's till the British isles, poss'bly France."

"France?" It was a gentle, rolling groan.

"Aye. An' I'll has to be turnin' the wheel hastily if we're ta reach Victoria."

She made a distinctly disgruntled expression before her lips made an impact on my cheek as fleeting and gentle as that I couldn't even recall the feel of them there.

"Nay, yer gettin' it all wrong, 'Melia."I bent my face down towards hers, lifting her chin with the gentle grasp my fingers held on it. "Sheriff."

She pushed me away, retaliating angrily.  
"Nevermind!"

"Ye quittin', _Love_?"

"I'm not_ quitting_."

"Ye are. Yer quittin'."

"Fine. You egotistical manwhore. Kiss me and get it over with."

I laughed, resting a hand on her hip. "I happily would, but it won' be's coun'in."

"Why the Hell not?"

And I realized that it mattered quite a lot to me, in a way it never had before. It mattered that she kissed me. I wanted to know whether her head tilted to the right or the left when she leaned in, know how her eyelids fluttered. Would the manner be a soft manifestation of her hidden femininity or would they wrinkle as she shut them tight in a hasty, passionate way? Yes. It mattered. It mattered so much it rather startled me and I was beyond thankful when Feliciano fetched us for lunch.

"Capitano~ Bella~ Lunch is ready~"

As Amelia walked beside him, I listened to their shallow banter.

"Ve~ Bella~ Knocka knock!"

She laughed, a gentle, tinkling thing. "Who's there?"

"Eh...Pasta~!"

"Pasta who?"

"Pasta isa yummy, si~?"

"I don't think that's quite how knock knock jokes work, Feli."

"What do youa mean?"

"I'll show you."

"Ah, Si~!"

"Alright. Knock knock."

"Who'sa there?"

She lunged forward, popping her fingers out in Feli's face, with a sudden "Boo!"

He let out a little scared sound of surprise. "B-b-boo who?"

"Oh, no, don't cry, it's just a joke." Her eyes, the color of a cloudless sky, were littered with the glittering gems of mirth.

"Ve... I don'ta get it..."

She went on to explain the joke to him, a large smile spread upon her lips. It was a side of her I hadn't yet seen, and at that moment, I resolved to see it more often.

"Ve~ You are likea big sorella, Bella~"

"Sorella?"

"Si~! It means sister in Italiano~"

"I have practice, I guess."

~Amelia Jones~

"Really~?"

"Yeah. When I was little my parents weren't home very often, so I took care of my brother a lot, even though he's not /that/ much younger than me." I had no idea as to why I was telling my life story to this small Italian pirate, but it felt like I was breathing new air when I got it off my chest, and I found I couldn't help but continue. "We were really close, my brother and I. It was always us against the world and no matter what happened, we always made it through, you know? Matt and Amy got along alright, we had each other's back."

"What happened?"

"Our parents died. And me and Matt went our separate ways."  
"After me and Sorella's Papa and Mama died, Sorella, who's bigger than me, went to live with her really nice friend Antonio~ I lived with my Grandpa Roma~ But then... he went off to the war with my bestest friend... and I was all alone, and I stole little bits of bread to eat, and I wasa very sad, Bella. But Capitano~! Capitano let me ona the shipa~ and he tolda me that his familia isa my familia, and that as longa as I cooka da pasta, Capitano willa protect me froma da sadness~ All I hava to doa is makea da Pasta~ And Pasta is really yummy, Si, Bella~? Oh~ Thata reminds me of a _really_ gooda joke~!"

* * *

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY CHAPTER TEN!

AND SCOTTY! You guys like?

I'm sorry I'm late. I haven't had my phone, and that's what I use to write. I LOVE YOU GUYSSSSSSSS

ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU REVIEW!


	11. The Trading Game

**~Amelia Jones~**

Feli's pasta was amazing. For food made on a ship, it quarreled with Sally's burgers for the title of the best thing I'd ever eaten.

"Ve~ Bella~ Did you like it?"

"Yeah. It's awesome."

"Ve~ Grazi Amelia~"

I laughed softly at the gentle roll that he put on my name. It took a moment for me to notice the steady forest green gaze set on me, it's origin being set under an all too familiar pair of bushy eyebrows.

"What?"

"Nothin'." He looked to his plate, obviously distracted by some thought whirling about his probably largely empty mind.

"What are you, eight?"

"Yer the one who's too afraid to kiss someone."

"I'm not afraid. I don't _want_ to."

"Nay, I don't believe ye."

"Your loss." There was something about the way he smiled then, gentle and soft. His eyes searched mine in an intense, personal but not invasive manner. And it caused an uncomfortable chill to slink up my spine that I'd rather forget I felt. The awkward silence grew around us, tense and thick.

"Bella~ Why are you afraid of kisses~? Kisses aren't scary~! Are you scared of doing it wrong?"

"No! I don't care if I do it right or not. After all, I don't have anybody to impress." Arthur's ass hole smirk only made me loath him more.

"I can teach you and it won't be scary~!"

"I'm not scared of messing up!"

"She be's scared o' feelin's, Feli."

"But feelings aren't scary~! What kind~?"

"Ye'll have to ask."

"I'm not hungry anymore." I stood, exiting the room and ascending the stairs to the deck. At that point, even a salt infested breath was better than one coated in the rum scented body odor of multiple sweaty unwashed men.

However, I didn't escape them for long. Arthur stood beside me, glancing over at me with a horribly knowing grin.

"Shut up."

"How? I hasn't said anythin'."

"You're face is stupid enough to get the message across."

"Feli's not tryin' ta call ye out on anythin'. He jus' doesn' understan' yer complicated feminine feelin's."

"Ha! Are you sure he's not a girl himself?"  
I couldn't read the smile on his face. It wasn't any of the sort I'd seen on his-or any other man's- before.

"Fairly. He's damn naïve though, that boy."

"I can tell."

"His sister's on another ship. Lover's the captain."

"I didn't think pirate's collected women."

"New tren'?"

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

The way she laughed softly made me smile again. Damn Feli. Our little agreement really had payed off. Kid did good.

"Victoria be's slippin' us by if ye don' make up her min'."  
She sighed. She turned her incredibly blue, I assume one could call them cerulean, eyes towards me.

"What kind of kiss?"

"Wou' ye like me ta show ye firs'?"

"No!"

"Hmm... Ten seconds 'least."

"Ten? No way."

I smirked, knowing full well that eventually, I'd get my way. "Aye. Ten. Go 'head. Think on it if ye must. Though it sho-" I wasn't allowed to finish. She stood slightly on her tip toes, one arm around my neck to stabilize her, the wrist of her other hand on my shoulder, counting off the miraculous seconds that elapsed when her lips met mine. My own arms instinctively fell about her waist, holding her closer to me than she'd intended. Her lips crashed against my own, and I let my mouth gently meld to hers, showing her a tenderness that I was not keen to adopt. She had a taste similar to that of apple pie, the cinnamon and softness that it held. By the sixth second, I could tell Amelia was beginning to melt, her body fitting against mine in a beautiful, perfect manner. Her hand balled up, forgetting to count as her arm tightened around my neck. I tilted my head at a gentle angle, increasing the contact between our lips. There was nothing like that kiss in the entire universe of human experience that could potentially make the reality of that moment more clear to you. It stood, and stands, a solitary masterpiece of creation, in and of itself perfect and alone. Because for twelve glorious seconds, I was not alone.

There was a tender silence after she pulled away, blue eyes wide in surprise at the way that kiss had made her feel. "I'll be's turnin' the wheel."

As my fingers grasped the wooden wheel, I smiled at the golden hue of the back of her head, the afternoon sun glinting off it. She swallowed softly, failing to hide the way she rested the tips of her fingers against her plump lips.

The men filtered upstairs not long after, and with Peter swabbing the deck as I'd instructed him, Amelia was ushered to stand beside me, the weather getting colder steadily as we climbed northward.

By the time the sun had dipped below the ocean's multi-hued surface, she was wearing my coat and my hat. They were both hugely over sized on her small body, the way her fingers could only sometimes be seen peeping over the edge of the coat sleeves, and how the hat continually fell in her face. I tilted it upwards as the sun set to better see the small visage dwarfed by the hat atop her head.

"Hungry, 'Melia?"

She nodded softly, eyes large as she held her arms to her chest. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, in a truly merciful action, offering the warmth our bodies together generated. And for once, she didn't push me away.

**~Amelia Jones~**

I didn't say much that night. I couldn't think of anything to say that I was certain I agreed to. My whole world had been flipped upon it's head, at the notion that the kiss I'd shared with the pirate had seemed, actually, /enjoyable/. The very thought scared me to a point that if Arthur hadn't been pulling me around, I wouldn't have been able to move. After dinner, Arthur took me back to his quarters.

He cupped my cheek with his hand and kissed me softly before crawling into bed. Leaving me with the startling realization that I didn't hate it. Or, quite possibly, the captain himself.

* * *

So, I tried the fancy format thing, and I hope it turned out okay. XD

WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK?

I'm also sorry I haven't responded to comments on last chapter. I'll comment on these ones though!

Also. Next chapter may be late. I have a week of hell coming up in school. DX KILLMENOW


	12. Guess Who

Chapter 12 - Guess Who

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

It took only a few days to reach the western port of Victoria. I expected Amelia to find comfort in the solid ground we descended onto. But her behavior was quite contrary to my expectation.

As she set foot on the docks, her blue eyes scanned the surroundings back and forth in a nervous, slightly expectant manner.

The crew parted from us soon after we docked in search of a pub to spend the Frenchman's plunder.

Trousers were easy to find, though many of the shirts fit her rather awkwardly, and my saying her chest was to blame resulted in a painfully forceful smack to the back of my head. Not to mention a retort... What was it? Oh. Yes. That I "would look a hell of a lot uglier in woman's clothes than" she does "in men's."

I suppose it is true, though.

**~Amelia Jones~**

I remember distinctly the sigh of clean relief that I felt as I ascended the steps to the ship, wearing the clothing I'd recently acquired. This feeling of escape was not significantly dampened even by the fact that Arthur seemed to like the way the white button up fit me, hugging my shape in a much too clingy way. His gaze, if before invasive, was now solidly akin to an invisible hand. It made me feel as though there was a uninterrupted coating of filth surrounding me when he looked at me in such a way.

But those thoughts left me when a person, before not inhabiting my floating hell, was presented to the captain as one Matthew Williams.

Blue eyes met blue and no words could correctly amass the torrent of thoughts and powerful emotions coursing through the both of us, and none were spoken.

None, that is, until Matthew seemed to notice the arm around my waist and the discreet yet prospectively disturbing glances towards me belonging to the Captain of_ The Empirical_.

"What are you doing with my sister?"

"Sister?" He cocked an eyebrow at me, as if he was questioning me and not Matt. My voice betrayed the irritation as I snapped back a clipped response. "What? I told you I have a brother. Not a very good one, but a brother."

"That was four years ago!"

"I trusted you!"

"You trusted our parents too, I guess you have a bad judgement of character."

"You're entire character _is_ bad judgement."

I rested my weight on one hip, arms crossed in front of me.

"Not all of it!"

"Then why are you on a pirate ship, huh?"

"I could ask the same about you, Sheriff Jones."

"I was kidnapped, what's your excuse?"

"I- what?"

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

It was obvious she didn't like admitting it in the dropped tone of her voice, tinted with the soft hue of shame.

"I was kidnapped."

"You kidnapped my sister?"

"Aye. Impre'ive fea', would ye not say?"

"Almost as impressive as your incredible ability to somehow be more of an ass than I already knew you to be."

"Ye touch me heart, b'd." I pulled her closer, managing to restrain from glancing at the exact spot that would likely get me smacked from two hands of the same family line.

"If only with a knife."

"Cruel."

"Good."

Matthew cleared his throat, breaking the steady look shared between me and his sister.

"She's yer older sister, aye?"

"Yeah."

"So she be's fair game."

"Kidnapping isn't a fair game-"

I let go of Amelia to grab the boy by the collar. "Does ye be wantin' to join me crew or no, Matthew?"

"I do-"

"Then ye'll hastily be fin'in' it best ta /not/ question me word, pup."

I wasn't expecting Amelia to grab him from me, setting him back on the floor, and stand as a buffer between us. "Don't touch my brother."

"Yer not in any place ta-"

"I'm perfectly aware, Arthur. But I still won't let you hurt him. He's my little brother. And you should just keep it in your mind that I'm not expecting you to treat him like he isn't, idiot delinquent or not."

"Amy-"

"Shut up, Matt."

"But this isn't like back when we were little and you'd stop bullies from messing with me."

"You're right. Because I like him even less."

This infringement on my previously unquestioned authority brought a frown to my lips.

"Tis a shame I don' min' throwin' li'l bro'ers ove'board."

"If Matt's behavior could get him thrown overboard I'd be swimming with the sharks by now."

"Nay. Yer different."

"How so?"

"Ye got excellent tits."

I felt an immense pain, and when I opened my eyes, some considerable measurement of time had passed. Amelia didn't notice at first, and from the fact she stood, arms crossed in front of her chest in my cabin with me, the crew had most likely locked her in as a punishment they knew would suit me well.

She grumbles softly to herself, mentioning such things as her brother and I and how stupid we both were. And of course how horrible of a human being I generally am, and the usual reference to a fat- yet delicious- mammal that she often made of me. Apparently, my words also granted me a new adjective. Repulsive. Oh goody.

"Ye can' take a compliment, can ye, dove?"

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Aye. It does be."

She grew silent, refusing to look at me after she turned away again, a strange, unreadable look in her eyes.

"You're stupid."

"I's been hearin' that often lately. 'Least be original, pigeon."

"Fine. You're_ insufferable_."

"Aye, tha's a good one."

"I hate you."

"Nay. Ye don't."

She seemed surprised that I had called her on it, from the widened state of her eyes and slight parting of her lips. And then she bit her lip and concreted the stubborn look on her visage. "Do too."

"If ye does, then ye'd be in the sea."

**~Amelia Jones~**

"Oi, that hit hurt, ye know."

"Yeah. I know. That was the point."

"So it_ was_ ye?"

"Almost. Feli grabbed me before I could. But no one anticipated that Matt was gonna clock ya."

My voice was a soft unemotional thing. My brain was sifting through so many thoughts and points that I had no time to deflect the wrapping of Arthur's arms around me. My own arms were pinned to my sides as he pulled me closer.

"Hey!"

"Sh." The sound was gentle, pressed against the crown of my head as his lips were. His arms loosened softly as his hand found my jaw, and he moved so he could pull my face to his, lips meeting mine. And I didn't even notice he was doing it to prove I didn't hate him.

And neither did Matt when he entered with a hushed, shocked, and rapid intake of breath. "A-Amy?"

* * *

HEY GUYS! I'm BACK! Sorry for the delay. Heh. ANYWAY! HAVE A MATTHEW!

Love reviews and you guys~~~ 3

OOH SCANDAL


	13. Dominoes

Chapter 13 - Dominoes

**~Amelia Jones~**

I jumped away from Arthur who sighed with a resigned frown.

"IT ISN'T WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE I SWEAR!"

"It looks like you were kissing him..."

"I... Well, I was, but... I mean, _I_ wasn't, he was kissing me! And, uh, I didn't really kiss him back at all or anything mostly!"

"Aye, ye did."

"Nuh-uh!"

"I don't get it, is this like... One giant kink?"

"WHAT?! No! No! Nonono! EW! Matt!"

"You were kissing him, okay! How am I supposed to know?"

"I's definitely a gian' kink." The smirk on his lips made me want to smack him. No! Shit. Not... Not like that!

"Ohmigodshuddup!"

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

The brilliant hue of red painting her cheeks was a color I was fairly certain could be classified as unprecedented. Something whirring in her mind made the blood rush to her face and at that moment, I would have payed a good fortune to have know what that was.

"I-it's not like that!"

"Bu' I' is."

"I swear to the same ever loving Lord who damns you to Hell that if you say one more intolerably_ disgusting_ word, I will take the fountain pen on your desk and I will stab you _through. The. Throat._ With it. _Repeatedly_."

I couldn't help but laugh. I know it sounds slightly masochistic, but the way she said it was probably the cutest damn thing that had ever been said in my cabin. And the look of pure detesting anger, unadulterated rage, was adorable. I took her cheek in my hand and kissed the one opposite before I could register that I had moved.

And the temperature was akin to that I would have felt had I kissed the rounded surface of a boiling tea kettle.

"Get off me!" She utilized her knowledge of quite a few choice profanities that the God who had apparently quite condemned me would have frowned upon.

"Now, 'Melia. I's late. Get in bed. I'll only be a mo." I grinned as I patted her cheek gently.

"I'd rather sleep on the floor."

"Ye'll change yer mind."

"Don't count on it."

I led Matthew outside with a smile at his sister.

"I have no inten'ions o' givin' her away."

"If that's so, what do you plan on? Just keeping her here? For how long? And when you're done with piracy, then what? You'll release her? Past marrying age and without any way to sustain herself?"

"I don' 'xpect I'll be's las'in' tha' long."

"She won't be able to get a husband then. After being on board your ship with you, no man would even look at her. Well they would, but you know what I mean."

"Aye. I jus' don' care."

Matthew paused for a moment before growing some understanding that he seemed to evaluate as valuable in some manner. "Oh. You don't want her to be able to get a husband."

"I' tha' so?"

"Yeah. You're carrying her around because you want her all for yourself, don't you? And once you're gone, and you can't have her, no one can. That's actually pretty damn sick."

I shrugged. I'd lost the energy I'd had a moment ago to deal with him.

"It's not fair to her. She gets more attached than she lets on."

"I figgered as much."

Matthew sighed after a thoughtful pause. "And it's not just that."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She's engaged."

**~Amelia Jones~**

When Arthur returned, he seemed as to be hiding some anger under the surface of his skin. My place on the floor only made the loud impact of his boots on the wall as he threw them harsher. He handled his hat and coat and sword without any of the delicacy he had previously. He removed his shirt, slid under the covers on the bed and mumbled at such an octave that I could barely make it out.

"Come here."

"No."

"Now." His voice was no louder. But the rage so clearly defined in the smooth tenor demanded nothing but obedience.

So I obeyed. But it was not happily, by any imaginable or honest means. I crawled into the bed beside him, back to his. We remained at this awkward place till he fell asleep, and I found that my eyes wandered without purpose or direction but confused and anxious.

It was late when Matthew shook me awake. "C'mon." He began to lead me from the room, as the ship was still docked, and as he slowly opened the door, I looked back at Arthur, who remained asleep. After we left the room, I spoke in a quiet, hushed tone.

"What did you say to him?"

"I... I may have told him that you're engaged. To a Daniel Morris."

"What? Why the Hell would you do that? Who's Daniel Morris anyway? Isn't he that kid we knew when we were what, seven and nine?"

"Yeah. The one who had a crush on you." His voice was quiet out of necessity and embarrassment.

I took his hand, pulling him towards where we could leave when a hand took my own. A strong one that used more force than usually was applied. "Ow!"

"How the fuck do ye think ye be doing?"

"I... I needed to go the the bathroom...?" Arthur jerked me closer, a furious sneer on his face. "Go. Back. To. The. Cabin. NOW." I had never seen such anger in his eyes as he had at that moment, but when I ran, I hid out of view, listening intently to the words the captain spoke.

"Lis'en. Matthew." Arthur spit his name like a disease. "I don' care if she be yer sister, I don' care if she be engaged. She no longer belongs ta any one bu' ME. An' she never will. So ye bes' not let her escape. Because if she do, I'll sooner kill her. Sooner kill her than let someone else have her."

As he turned, I tried to run to the cabin unseen and failed, Arthur grabbing me from the back of my shirt and pulling me back.

"You."

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

"I-" My hand sliced through the air to give a smack that quite sickened me as it made contact with her skin. The way her blue eyes could be seen more vividly as the moon fell from her eyes in the form of a tear, and the terrified shake of her hand as she held it to her cheek and took a step back. I had let a part of me snap. It was all I could do to not break completely. I had felt it starting. My heart had started to thaw, and, like a fool, I let it. And I thought, I was stupid enough to think she'd started to feel the way I was beginning to acknowledge that I felt. But she ran. The first chance she got she tried to leave me. And it hurt. But the word hurt, the word pain, they were too simple.

The way she stood before me then, too scared to run, it pierced me more than her attempt to escape had. Because she wasn't hurting me. I had hurt her. Physically, mentally.

I didn't know then to step away or pull her close. Comfort or let her be. I gently reached out a hand to touch the red mark of my hand, and the evidence that I had hurt her in such a way nearly burned me in a nature that shocked and pained me. I took a staggered step back.

Her lip trembled.

I wanted to kiss both of them still.

She held back the tears I knew pushed at her eyes.

I wanted to hold her and catch them if they fell.

I wanted to hold her and catch _her_ if she fell.

And that scared me.

* * *

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

YES. FEEL HORRIBLE FOR HATING HIM THIS WHOLE TIME.

Everyone hates on Artie but now you all shall feel bad for not loving him! He may be a douche, but he looooooves her.

Also, Song for this chapter, "The Great Escape" by P!nk.

REVIEW and tell me every thought you had while reading this chapter! 3


	14. Monopoly

Chapter 14- Monopoly

**~Amelia Jones~**

Everything after the impact was a disorienting compilation of blurred generalization and starkly clear details, preserved in a crisp focus as I recall them.

Having noted the event, Jack and some other crew member speaking in a soft tone (I didn't recognize him in my unobservant haze) intervened in the unfolding affair.

Captain preoccupying his chambers, it seemed Jack had no defined place to really take me, and settled on the kitchen, as anyone still awake would be elsewhere at the present time.

"Yew a'right, missy?" His voice held that strange bouncing quality it carried before. I couldn't place it.

"Yeah."

He nodded "An' Arthur?"

"I'm not sure." The painfully confounded look in his eyes, an ever expansive foresty green, lurking behind the slightest of shadows or depths within resurfaced in my mind.

"I figured." My expectant look egged him on. "Yew're an unknown, an' he be not so comf't'rble wif those."

"He should probably amend that."

Jack wet his lips to say something when the other crewmate, (Thomas perhaps?) shouted down. "Cap'n's inconsolable, won' lis'en a thin' ah say, says he wan' the lassy, he do."

With pirates, I want you to comprehend, there is never quite much time allotted you to put in any argument, one way or the other.

Due to this circumstance, I found myself trapped in the captain's cabin with it's nefarious inhabitant, though he was unstable now as ever he had been, and I knew not how to react. A long pause preceded a gentle yet pensive sigh. "Ye less wits than meself had been reckinin'. Ben' an ear. I thinked ye smar' 'nough ta know bette', me little pigeon. Ye be knowin' wha' they does ta bi'ds who won' stay in the coop where they belongs, aye?"

"You're not going to cut off my hands, are you?"

"Nay." His voice was upheld, and from it I gathered he was holding back some amount of anger. "I'll's jus' be keepin' ye on a leash. A tigh' one." He surveyed me a moment, the teasings of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I be's only cuttin' off ye hands whilst ye f'get ta 'pologize. Properly." The threat was of a ludicrous caliber, though there was no humor in his tone. He was furious, and for the hope of captivity outside at least the confines of his cabin, I'd need to amend my attempt at escape. "I apologize."

"Fo'?"

"For trying to get away."

"An' how ye gon' ta righ' yer wron'?"

I was clearly unprepared for such a request. What was the saying he'd used once?

"Um... An eye for an eye?"

"Aye. Yer not far. I forgave ye, ye'll be forgivin' me ne' time I be crossed a boun'ry."

"That sounds dangerously like selling my civil rights to the devil of the seas."

"'Cause i' is, me flu'erin' dove."

I sighed. "Within reason?"

"Mo' o' less."

With the assumption I wouldn't get much more than that, I shook his outstretched hand, his fingers grasping my own, thumb on my palm as he brought the back of it to the somewhat rough surface of his lips. After this action, he used his hold of my hand to pull me closer and on to his bed. As he brought me into the warmth that resided in the niche in his arms, I grumbled quietly, not wanting the idea that I enjoyed it to pollute his already ego-swollen head.

"If yer tha' disturbed, then turn away fro' me."

I didn't even swat his face away when he whispered something unintelligible far too close to my ear, the heat he provided easily and efficiently drove me into a solid state of rest.

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

A pleasant surprise welcomed me to the day when I awoke. A sleeping Amelia, her arms draped about my neck and her body drawn close to mine, head on my shoulder and face in the crook of my neck. My hand resting on the small of her back drew gentle, soothing circles on the skin with the palm. It was an extremely frigid morning, but I'd grown accustomed in my time at sea. The California dwelling sheriff clinging to me seemed not well used to the reality of skin prickling over night freeze. I pulled not my coat alone, but also the blanket around her, including myself in the cocoon of warmth I'd built for her.

Her peaceful expression was definite testament to her deep sleep, and it presented me with an unique dilemma. I was needed on deck to send off the ship, yet if I went to my duties, my sleeping prisoner would surely awaken and this precious _quiet_ time was something I found invaluable. However, asking the bo'sun to sail out of port would allow the idea that I was replaceable to fester.

_The Empirical_ let out a needy whine of anxious excitement as if she was begging me to answer, akin to a wife calling me away from a mistress. While one yearned constantly for the feel of my hands gripping her wheel, the other only wanted for my absence. The latter also had a brother. A seventeen year old needing to be disciplined and assessed. The utmost strictness was required in handling myself and the happenings of my ship.

So with such this revelation, I sat up, delicately handling the armful, and set her down to dress myself. She woke with a line of expletives as I pulled my shirt over my head.

"Damn me eyes bu' i' seems ta meself tha' the invincible sheriff is cold."

"Shut up."

"Bah don' be givin's me tha' bilge."

"It's too early for your shit, pirate."

"I's cap'n, an' I'll be thinkin' ye ta call me as such."

"Too bad."

"Ye best be heedin' me words, _dove_." She rolled her eyes as she turned from me, pulling my coat around her before realizing what it was and discarding it as I stood, catching it when she threw it behind her in exchange for the blanket.

"Than' ye, 'Melia."

"I didn't mean to help you."

"I don' thin' ye mean alo' o' thin's."

"Like what?" She spoke in an agitated tone as I drew on my coat and donned both hat and sword, preparing for the duty I had resolved to uphold. Amelia rubbed her eyes with soft fists, the fabric of her shirt ruffling softly as she stretched her legs out before her.

It seemed that kind of waking routine that one adopts daily, and the gentle yet brisk yawn that left her lips was something rather sweet, though all the while my eyes couldn't help but travel up her more defined legs.

With a scowl she noticed the path my eyes had taken and scolded me with her expression alone. "Pig."

"I may be's a pig, bu' I does me job ta the bes' a me 'bility, me fai' piece."

She scoffed quietly at the objectifying term. "I don't belong to you."

"Own ye I does, and as how don' I, does me be wonderin'." I pointed to my boots, and with a long series of furious expletives, mumbles, and name calling she stomped forwards and retrieved them in a manner that combined both obedience and utmost rage. She very nearly threw them at me, managing to convince herself not to either pitch them at my face or directly beat me with the soles.

Instead, she tossed them at my feet with a look of pure detestation. "You don't own me. I'm my own person."

"Yer on me ship. So ye bes me proper'y."

I strode out of the cabin, and with a frustrated growl, she followed quickly behind.

**~Amelia Jones~**

I glared at the back of his coat, only for the true temperature of the morning to hit me like a slap to the face. And that comparison only angered me farther.

"That counts you know!"

"How?"

"Because-"

"Nay. How's ye said?"

"That it counts."

"Wha' coun's?"

"You crossed a boundary. And it counted."

"Nay, nay," He began, shouting orders in the midst of our conversation. "I was statin' fac's, me bi'd."

I made an unsatisfied noise. "So what does that make me, huh? Another trophy prize you call she like your ship? Or some stupid piece of gold you keep around for an ego trip?"

"Ye 'spect yer somethin' so valuable?"

"I don't see you stealing rags and rats."

He laughed and grabbed my arm to pull me closer, stealing my lips for a three second kiss. "Yer a diamond, is what ye be."

* * *

I have to admit that I really like the quality of actual writing in this chapter. I was super surprised by the reaction to Dominoes, people either loved it or hated it. I don't think very many people are remembering the difference in gender equality between now and the time this story took place. Being that it didn't exist yet. That would come to England in the later 1800's, (this is the earlier 1800's) and it wouldn't really come to America till around the first World War.

Also, people seem to forget that Arthur is a pirate. He is not kind. He does not have remorse for hitting women, except after hitting Amelia, and honestly, for him that's a pretty big deal. Amy's sass would get her a slap in likely any situation, not just a pirate ship.

I would like you all to remember that Arthur does not understand love. He sees it as a huge weakness, and when trying to impress Matthew and deter mutiny, all weaknesses must be crushed. If he seems weak, he knows it'll be his death. Also. I'm a little annoyed by the idea that it's a death crime to slap a woman, but if she slaps a man, it's totally acceptable. Keeping Amelia on the ship is partially self defense. Her escaping and spilling to the authorities would result in the hanging of him and most likely, his whole crew.

Damn. Rant much? Sorry. Heh

I LOVESES REVIEWS MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF. And the more detailed the review, the more detailed my response. Special thanks to 91redroses for her amazing review. 3

I thank you all so much for reading and supporting me in this venture. Please review so I can thank you for sticking with me through this. You all are the reason I write. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

See you next Saturday!

Sydneyla


	15. Ghost In The Graveyard

Chapter 15- Ghost In The Graveyard

**~Amelia Jones~**

Like the idiot he is, he_ chuckled_ at me as I swatted his arm. His eyes held a strange warmth, and when I looked away, the chill ripped through me violently, as a bullet, sent from an unseen shooter. An invisible sniper, one whose image would undoubtedly evade most people's vision. A ghost. I knew it without a doubt, and the revelation morphed into an instantaneous need for human connection, causing me to clutch Arthur's arm, not daring to cope alone.

"Somefin ailin' ye, pigeon?"

"No..." My voice was a gentle murmur. I'd grown up a rather observant child. Matthew liked hiding, and he was unfathomably good at it, and such, I became accustomed to notice the acute, making me more susceptible to be one of the few who could see into the realm of the dead.

And it terrified me beyond comprehension.

"Yer lyin'."

"Amy?" Matthew's blue eyes found mine the moment Arthur growled, ordering me back into the cabin.

"N-no! Please! Please don't make me!"

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

I couldn't guess at what frightened her so at that moment. But it must have been something horribly dreadful, because the girl shook. She'd faced an armed band of pirates, and stood still, unfazed. But now, she clung to me, blue eyes as wide as the sky they reflected, though there was a dark cloud of fear draped over the once cloudless expanse. "Please." She was pleading with me. Pleading with me to let her stay by my side. Something was horrendously askew.

"Only if ye tells me what yer 'bout."

She made a kind of urgently concerned expression. "Really?"

"Aye."

She shook her head, with a soft negative noise. "You'd laugh."

"An the fault in tha' is?"

"Fine." It was an aggravated mumble as Matthew approached her, a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes like he'd saved her from some terrible beasty and was asking if she was alright.

"Matt." She relaxed visibly, and the act annoyed me somewhat.

"OI! Ye'll be gettin's win'ward o' 'er, and handsomely. Am I explicit?"

His eyes drooped into their sad look, the one he seemed quite prone to adopt.

"An' ye. Get ye ta me cabin. Hey! Heed how ye go!" I grabbed her with the last statement, as she very nearly forgot to ascend the stairs in front of her, in something like a possessed state.

After helping her with the stairs, I closed her in, leaving her there alone. My mind remained with the bird, worried and careful enough as to listen to her gentle rustling behind the door.

As a heavy wind blew upon me, I could no longer catch the soft cues, and when I went to check on her, I opened my door to silence and absence. "Amelia? 'Melia!" My voice grew in panic and volume as I called her name again, repeatedly until it was quite a shout.

When I finally did manage to find her, she clutched her legs to her chest, pathetic whimpers leaving trembling lips as she sat in the filth of the bilges where she'd once been locked. "'Melia? Dove, wha'er ye doin' down here?

"Arthur?" Her eyes opened, wide as she stretched out a hand, wanting some kind of contact, I assumed. So I took it, pulling her up and into my arms. Tears left small rivers in the grime on her cheeks, and a rude sniffle broke into the muggy air as she hid in my shoulder.

"Sh... Yer a'righ', love... Yer a'righ'..."

I eventually carried her up the stairs and sat in the bed with her before she fell asleep in my arms and I could sail the ship the rest of the way to the no where port of Northern Canada. We'd be staying there but a day or two till the waters of society had calmed enough for the ship to go underway again.

She was still asleep when I joined her after stripping down to my pants, the bandages (desperately needing to be rewrapped) visible without the cover of my shirt. Her soft whimpers quieted when I wrapped my arms snugly around her waist and pulled her close to me, pressing my lips to her forehead before letting my eyes close.

**~Amelia Jones~**

With the resurgence of ghost presence came the resurgence of the nightmares.

At first, I saw a man. He seemed much taller than me, and he looked like a pirate but I wasn't automatically inclined to see him as such. I wasn't aware. And I must have been small, for when he patted my head, I- I was the man then, and I saw the boy- Four or five perhaps-, his startling green eyes the most memorable feature, and then a woman, -the little boy's mother?- and I felt a heart wrenching connection as I drifted away from them onto a ship. The very ship I dreamed on, and I saw many more men of the same breed as myself, though, again, I did not see them as pirates, but as brothers. And the haze with which they were painted only intensified as the world, set against a backdrop of ocean and sky, whirled past my eyes. And then a bang spilled the beauty of the dream and the life onto the immeasurably cold deck.

The pain came. Immense and sickening, it woke me with a shout, my skin shining with a layer of sweat as I bolted immediately to a sitting position.

My thinking was slow and panicked and I fought to not drive myself into utter madness.

Arthur sat up, hand finding the back of my head to direct my gaze to his own eyes. "Amelia. Tell me how it is."

"Nothing! It's nothing! Back off, why don'tcha?" My slurred speech and weak shove alerted him that there was definitely _something_ occurring. And as his eyes bore into my own, the premonition sunk to the bottom of my heart. He was many years older now, but the young boy from my dream, the ghost's son, seemed to me in that moment to be undoubtedly the green eyed captain of _The Empirical_.

"I-it's nothing. Nothing."

* * *

SOOOOOOOO BOOM. GHOSTS. I hope this isn't too cheesy for you. (Not actually how I talk)

Or in the south. Hope i'ain't ta cheeseh fer y'all. (How I talk after doing manual labor with my dad for a while) I'm getting better at writing accents guys. Beware.

You guys like? It's suspenseful!

Chapter 18 is kicking my _**ASS**_. BIG. TIME. LIKE SERIOUSLY. I'm writing it on paper with a fancy ball point pen to try to get through it. Good news is I got a crap ton of classical music on my phone so that should help.

I don't have classes anymore and yet somehow I procrastinate even more than when I'm in school. I'm writing less than I did during finals.

You're reviews are kind of the only thinking helpin' me power through it. If you review me your little theories or predictions I'll give you some kind of prize if you're right. I'll put a character based off you in the story or something. But only when your prediction comes to fruition so you won't get the story spoiled. ;D

These titles are getting harder and harder to come up with. Oops.

I got the best reviews of all time last week, and I bragged to all my friends. Not joking here. XD I believe I told every reviewer that I love them at least once. Multiple times in most cases.

I'm a fairly affectionate person.

I sort of kinda worship every one of you. It's amazing to me that I have real live people who are actually excited to read my story and it makes me all happy and glowy and stuff. Like a UNICORN. Like MWAMWA THAT'S ME KISSING YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACES.

BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL.

There are so many of you from so many different parts of the world that it truly amazes me. It would mean the world to me if each of you would review and tell me where you're from, because I love you all and would love to know you.

I am from Oregon, on the northwestern and rainy coast of America.

I Love You!

Ich Liebe Dich!

Je t'aime! (No French people, really helpful French one and two. -.-)

I love you, eh?

I don't know how to say I love you in the other languages... Review and help me, huh? Huuuuuh?

SEE YOU NEXT SATURDAY.

Love, your Sydneyla

3


	16. Spin The Bottle

Chapter 16- Spin The Bottle

**~Amelia Jones~**

We ported in some small coastal town in Northern Canada, the name of which escapes me, (and the attentions of the earth). According to Arthur, we were porting here to escape the watchful eye of an alert public. After a few days, we'd head south and make way to Europe by route of the pacific, through the Suez Canal, and around the Iberian peninsula.

As the crew dropped the anchor, I stood beside the wheel, cold and disheartened, having declined any offer to wear Arthur's coat, after noting the similarities it held to the one I knew the ghost had owned. "Where'd you get your coat?"

"I didn't steal it. If tha' be's what yer askin'. Not...exac'ly, anyhow."

"How not, then?"

"Was me fa'ers. One o' the la'ies a' the- one o' the ladies stich'ed it up fer me. Feather on me hat was his too, bu' the hat i'self is me very own, and did never belongs ta anyone bu' meself."

"Oh." I grew quiet once more at this affirmation of my beliefs.

"Had yer tongue pruned, B'd? Yer fairly quiet."

"Just cold."

"I' be only a few days."

"Yeah. I know."

"I know wha'll be warmin' ye up."

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

She immediately rolled her eyes. "P-"

"I wasn't sayin' we cu'le close, though I be's not opposed ta it. I be thinkin' some goo' rum'll be's warmin' yer blood."

"I don't drink."

"Nay? I'll soon be changin' tha'."

"I don't think so. I'm not going to drink. And you can't make me."

I sighed then, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. This arm remained there, keeping her close and unable to slip away as me and my crew began downing drink after drink.

"Yer a pre'y li'l do'y, ain't ye, 'Melia?"

"You smell like liquor." She grimaced, expression repulsed after I attempted a slightly uncoordinated kiss.

"Don' be so col'... Come now."

"Ugh. Drunken pig."

"Pigs soaked in rum always bes the best tastin'."

My lips found hers on this attempt, the kiss sloppier than previous ones, but also contained more force within it.

I smirked, arm slipping to her waist to pull her closer yet against my side as I brought another mug to my lips.

By the time I could no longer remember the number of drinks I'd downed, I was sloshed. Last I had counted had been something akin nine, but I believe I had most likely counted that number more than twice. "Why be yer hair so shert, me armful? Is not even... At yer arm..."

"What?"

"Yer hair!"

**~Amelia Jones~**

I shoved him away when his hands playing with my hair turned to his lips gracing my neck.

"Ye smell nice-"

"What? You smell with your mouth now?"

"I can if ye be wan'in me ta."

"No. Thank. You."

His other arm wrapped about me when he finished his drink, pulling me into his lap.

"Let me go!"

With an egotistical, drunken grin he held my body to his and kissed me with more vigor than he ever had, liquor stained lips crashing against my own, his hands pressed to my back.

One of his grimy, disgusting pirate hands fell to my hip, holding onto me as if I was the only possession he had, and he had no purpose for his existence but to keep me with him.

When I felt something slimy between my lips and tasted alcohol tainted saliva, I nearly fell backwards, shoving his face away with an aggravated growl.

"Get off me!"

"I was jus' kissin' ye! Learn a li'l... Respec'."

"Respect!" I nearly spat, my escape halted by his hand firmly gripping my wrist, tugging me back with enough force that made me fall, face against his and my body laying atop him. His only response was to wrap his arms about me and to pull his lips into the crudest smirk ever to grace the earth.

"I think ye've fergo'en who's cap'n here. In case ye have, i's me. An' /I/ own ye. I figger such as I can decide how yer life carries on, an' if i' does or don't. So, dove," He purred the word, a finger crawling up my jaw. "Ye bes be doin' as yer told."

"Yew go'a share, Cap'n!" Before I could register the strange vocal signature as Jack's, he had swirled me into his arms, ignoring the shrinking bubble of personal space I'd come to expect.

"Oi! Han's of me bi'd!"

The pairs of arms holding me circulated like the chamber of a revolver, and this red hot bullet was about to fire. That fact was the exact thing that made this particular dance a deadly waltz of Russian Roulette.

And then the kissing started. The growing competition to try to force me to enjoy it, and the spiking alcohol induced confidence. The man who was unlucky enough to receive the bullet was Matthias, who pushed me against the wall, shielding me from the grasp of the rest of the crew.

However, I wasn't the bullet. And the bullet itself wasn't a metaphor. It came from an honest smoking blunderbuss, and a captain who's green eyes shone with an insane sort of rage.

* * *

I could feel the rough cotton rubbing against my skin as Arthur pulled my shirt out of my pants where they had been tucked, his lips moving against my own ever since he'd pushed me into his cabin. I fell onto the bed when he walked me back, and when he crawled on top of me, the fear exploded in my eyes and I couldn't hold back anymore. I turned my face, hand groping around in search of anything I could use to deter him.

My fingers finally curled around a telescope, and when I drove it squarely to the side of his skull, I immediately regretted it as I took a moment before putting a hand to his head and falling, Arthur face planted on top of me, unconscious.

* * *

Don't hate meeeeeeee! Or Art, I guess, too. PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEEASE REVIEW! I didn't get many reviews at all last chapter, which really kind of freaked me out! Give me your honest opinions about this chapter or whatever you want, I guess.

Deciding to name this Spin The Bottle or Russian Roulette was difficult.

LOVE MEH. Oh! SOOOO EXCITED MY 16TH BIRTHDAY IS ON THE 22ND!


	17. Solitaire (Or The Lack Thereof)

Chapter 17- Solitaire (or the lack thereof)

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

I awoke for the second time alone with Amelia after being knocked unconscious. Though it seemed several days later, as her hair was slightly longer, and I didn't have any inkling of a hangover, except the pounding headache that resulted from the concussion she'd given me. But waking up to her breasts cushioning my head like (delightfully fantastic) pillows happened to amend these things.

I didn't announce my alert status immediately. I decided to lay still, enjoying the relaxed manner of her fingers combing through my hair gently, humming softly. The song floating from her lips had a soothing rhythm, and the way her arm laid over my chest in such a calm state put me in a gentle euphoria.

I figured the crew had put her exclusively to the task of taking care of me as my unconsciousness had been her explicit fault. Yes. What to do about such a thing? Surely we had stayed our rest at this port, and would soon be forced to head south, to perhaps Japan for supplies and carry on through the pacific. She'd be warmer then, I wagered, and would have no need for my coat.

So what punishment would efficiently match the wrong done by the lass? My thinking was cut short as Amelia began to gently shake me.

"You should really wake up... You're going to need to eat and drink something. Arthur."

"Arghhh." The affirmative aye turned into a guttural rumble when transitioning through my dry and rough vocal cords. "If ye' feeds it ta me wif yer mouth."

"CAPITANO~! YOU ARE AWAKE~!" Feli spilled through the door as Amelia pushed me away, his small hands dragging me to a prepared meal and some rum for my troubles.

**~Amelia Jones~**

I was alone before I could even register his crude words. The remorse I'd just been feeling about potentially killing him and the confusion it called quickly dissolving to be replaced by fear of what might visit me in my solitude.

And it came.

It walked through the wall like the cabin belonged to no other but him, scratching his ungroomed beard, the blonde hairs scattered through the largely dark scruff the only indication of the color of the hair under the scarf and hat on his head. His eyes were a dark, brooding green, much like others that I knew, though seemingly deeper with wisdom and age.

His boots missed the distinctive click against the wood as he strode towards my spot on the edge of the bed, assessing me with the eyes that were the father's of those that occupied my focus in many ways at many times.

"Ye. Yer me lad's wench, are ye not?"

I couldn't speak. I'd lost any ability to do so as past terrors grasped my body. And this particular spirit was stronger, held more full _reality_ than any other I had faced.

"We'? Ye goin' ta answer me? Be yer tongue pruned, ye shrew?"

"I-I-I-"

"Don' act so demmed scared, ye wee babe. Yer not scared of any o' the other pirates."

"I can shoot them."

"Answer me questions an' I won' be shootin' ye."

"I-I'm not a wench. And I don't belong to Arthur, either."

"Yer mentaili'y is a li'l lacking, aye? Do wha' he says an' he'll be le'in up on ye."

"But he's a crass, egotis-"

"I ne'er said ye gots ta li'e it. An, Amelia."

He stepped closer, grabbing my collar and pulling me into the air. "Ye bes' no' be hur'in him."

And then he vanished into a wisp of vapor as Arthur stepped into the apparition of a father he couldn't see.

"Wha's wron'? Ye lookin' li'e ye seen the Devil's ghost."

A tortured chuckle slipped past my still trembling lips.

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

I wanted desperately to kiss her. But she turned her face from me, hiding some unreadable expression from me as so I could not discern it.

She responded with a quiet mumble that sounded somewhat like "I'm fine".

"I be sailin' out o' port. Ge' some rest."

When I returned, the sun dipping below the water and allowing me to retire to my cabin, Amelia had appeared to not have gotten any sleep at all, but instead, seemed more fatigued than previously. Every time I left her, she seemed worse for wear by the time I came back to her.

She was rather relieved to see me, standing off by the cabinets, straightening as I entered.

"Yer s'posed ta be sleepin'."

"I got restless."

The way she spoke betrayed the fact that even she could hear the blatant problems with the validity of her statement. One eyebrow rose on my forehead in disbelief. "I be doubtin' tha' ye even slept, me bi' o' dain'iness."

"I'm not dainty."

"Aye. I s'pose no'. Yer rather cruel. Tha's qui' attractive ta my kinds, ye know."

"Shut up."

My arm slipped about her waist, pulling her closer with a grin.

"Don't. Don't even think abou-"

I took hold of her chin and lifted her lips to mine before she could finish the word.

She scowled at me before I stole a second, pressing my own thin lips against the frown etched upon her features. But unlike the first speck of a kiss, I pulled her closer and held her there when I finally did end that specific contact.

Amelia turned her face from me, seemingly rather annoyed. I didn't mind. She hadn't hit me that time, and I took that as some form of significant progress.

**~Amelia Jones~**

I couldn't find the courage inside myself to push him away. I had been continuously tormented by the ghost of his father, who hadn't hurt me, but continued to share endless counts of extravagant, likely far stretched tales of his life, and peppering in insults and demands of me and how I should act around and treat his "most promising son". After that, I didn't have enough strength to spend anymore time alone. So I stayed by Arthur's side listening to his badly enunciated stories and through the night, eyes going to his face for comfort each time a nightmare roused me with the insurmountable pressure it put on me.

* * *

Hello! Today's my 16th birthday party and Monday, the 22nd, is my actual birthday! Sooooo, as a birthday present, I want a review from every single one of you, because it would mean the world to me. You want my sweet 16 to be sweet right? DON'TCHA? So send those reviews, guys. Seriously. YAY more of the _late_ Captain Kirkland.

By the way, I noticed that I totally forgot to mention that Denmark didn't die, the bullet really only grazed him. Leave it to me to forget that I shot a character. Oops. OH MY GOSH I CAN'T WAIT NEXT WEEK I GET TO POST CHAPTER 18! Chapter 18 is perfect and beautiful and my favorite as far as writing quality goes. 33

And I also have to finish Chapter 19 but that's more stressful and not as exciting.

Who likes Art's talkative father? *raises hand* I do. Me! MEE! And don't hate on Arthur for not realizing that there's a ghost. The fact that he's even realized something's up with her shows he actually pays attention which is more than would be expected of a pirate.

Oh. And is Canadia transparent enough? XD Next chapter is "Gambling Games". It's very exciting.

DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW PLEASE I DON'T BITE UNLESS YOU'RE INTO THAT KIND OF THING.

"I like biting. It's like kissing but there's a winner." -Sexy

And with the Doctor Who reference, I bid thee adieu.

Your lovely Sydneyla~


	18. Gambling Games

Chapter 18- Gambling Games

**~Amelia Jones~ **

When I awoke, Arthur was standing, buttoning his coat, though the shine of the buttons wasn't where my eyes were focused. It was the pistol and sword on the table, the sword smaller than his and the pistol adorned with a distinctive elaborate J.

"My dueling pistol! That doesn't belong to you-"

"Aye. I know, b'd."

"Then why is it out?"

"I has some things ta be doin' today."

"Like?"

"Ye be bearing away along o' me, an' I'll be assessin' ye and yer brothe'. I figger if ye be on the ship ye'll be useful."

There was some kind of gentle appearance of hope in his eyes, as though he was under the impression that this trust would sit especially well with me.

"Bear away along of you?"

"I be le'in ye walk the decks wif me, as long as ye be respec'in' me and lis'enin'."

"Why?"

"I be's only lockin' up such things as rags an' ra's, an' ye tol' me once ye weren' one o' those things, aye?"

"Yeah... So the assessing thing?"

"Me route takes me ship through the pacific, and there be some considerable... Hostile par'ies there. It be in me favor to be aware o' the abilities on me ship."

"You want me to fight for you if you run into one of your enemies?"

"Trus' ye me, 'Melia, ye'd rather has me over me frien's in the pacific."

"I thought they were your enemies?"

"Same thin', aye?"

"Whatever."

"Oh. An', me b'd, if ye don' be lis'enin'..." A metallic jingle drew my eyes to a pair of handcuffs.

"You stole my handcuffs from me!"

"Aye. Ye didn' even no'ice."

**~Arthur Kirkland~**

"Wha's yers be mine now, me armful."

"Give me my gun."

A hoarse laugh briskly left me in response to her command, growled from the lips of a very impassioned angel.

"If this bein' yer state o' 'motion? Nay, fer me own safety. Ye'll be gets yer pistol when ye prove yerself trustworthy, 'Melia. An' ye has quite a ways ta go, aye?"

She looked as to open her mouth, and as such I quickly intercepted her words. "So ye'll best be watchin' how ye speak, ye wills."

The girl grew silent, eyes trained on the heel of my boot to avoid my eyes.

"Come along, me b'd."

"What kind of bird am I that I deserve to be locked up?"

"One wif the pre'iest plumage, me fair piece."

Her expression was one of repulsion, a simple, non aristocratic distaste. Instead of turning her chin up at it, she locked her visage in a grimace, blue eyes ablaze.

She followed me all the same out to where the bo'sun garnered the crew's presence with a loud "All han's on deck".

I stepped forward, hands clasped behind my back and eyes surveying the lot, Amelia standing behind me.

"Belay, the cu' o' ye!"

There was a crisp chorus of aye-aye cap'n that assured me of my stance. One distinct voice, it seemed, was lacking.

"Pe'er."

"Yes Ar- Cap'n?"

"Where be's Feli?"

Peter looked down the row, eyebrows drawn together. "I'm afraid I don't know, sir."

"Cast abou' fer him, mates! 'Melia. Comes away wif me down below."

Once in the kitchen, I had Amelia search, admittedly enjoying the sight of her venture as she turned away from me to look about and investigate possible hiding spots.

"Feli? Feliciano!" A soft sigh came from her thoughtful exhale, before her voice took on a much gentler tone, tender and warm. It surprised me, nearly astonished me to hear her speak in such a way that could nearly be described as maternal.

"Feli... Come on out. It's alright. I promise."

"You promise, Bella?"

She smiled slightly.

"Yeah." She reached her hand out, crouching a bit to better look the Italian (who was hiding behind a large barrel) in the brown eyes.

He stuck to Amelia quite relentlessly, something that did not strike me in the best of ways.

"As ye has knowledge o', we be's sailin' the Pacific in due time, an' such, we aught be's in our mos' effec'ive manners, aye?

"Aye aye, Cap'n."

"Matthew. Wha's yer skills be's wif figh'in?"

"Eh?"

"Figh'in, ye dull wi'ed boy."

"I can work my way with a dagger, captain sir."

"An' wif a sword?"

A stifled unfamiliar chuckle sounded from behind me.

"Matt's useless with a sword. Too much of a wimp."

"Like you're any good, Amy?"

"Better than you."

"Ye both figh'?"

"Yeah. Mom and Dad wanted us to be able to protect ourselves. So I mastered quick shooting and perfected my aim while Matt became good at stealth and knives."

**~Amelia Jones~**

Arthur seemed to meditate on this a moment. "Bu' ye can't sword figh'?"

"Not well."

A small, devious smirk grew on his features. "Very well. I's jus' go's ta teach ye."

"Why in-" I was interrupted before I could finish, Arthur standing back, throwing a wooden practice sword my way. He nodded in approval when I snatched it from the air before it could fall to the ground.

Matthew was given a weapon not unlike my own, and the thought occurred to me that Matthew might be the only one on the ship willing to fight, but in the same instance, wouldn't hurt me. It also interested me that the chance to let my aggressions out at my traitor brother, with no legal, social, or ethical repercussions had finally arrived. I was unable to suppress the grin spreading across my face. As we adopted ready stances, two pairs of blue eyes met. One fiery and aggressive- those being my own- the other frightened and passive.

The one to one direct nature of the fight already put my younger sibling at a disadvantage. I could see every sign of his nervous state, from the awkward unsure way he held the sword, to the knitting of his thin eyebrows.

I didn't let the opportunity his hesitance provided me go to waste. I lunged, Matt ducking forwards as I expected he would. I had enough time (barely) to grab his wrist and hold the sword, though extremely uncomfortably, under his chin, the too if his own wooden blade close to my side, the number of inches away one could count on one hand.

Taking his right wrist, the same one connected to the hand holding my brother's sword, I forced it behind his back and as the distortion grew more painful, he began to sink to the ground.

Arthur spoke after I let my brother go.

"The only reason ye won be fer the fact ye can rea' yer own bro'ers movements. Ye ain't go's no 'bility wif a sword, chick'dee."

"Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean-"

"Ye can figh', ye she devil, bu' no' wif swords. An' I be's tellin' he somethin'." He took a long step towards me, leaning till his face levitated above my own in a strangely intimidating manner, though the drop of his whispered tenor was far worse.

"Swords don't run ou' o' pow'er. An. 'Melia. They be quite accurate." His green eyes were darkly reminiscent of another pair altogether and as he took the weapon from my fallen kin, (alive though ashamed) I felt a stone of dread drop in my stomach.

He took an eye patch from his coat and secured it over his left eye. "This be how's I norm'ly figh'. An' seein' as her a woman, no' a lady, I say, by' yer face resembles some, so I be givin' ye a handicap. I'll figh' one han'ed."

"What?"

"Ye 'fraid to figh' me, Dove?"

"No! I'm glad I get the chance to kick your arrogant pirate ass!"

"Confident, aye, lass?"

"As hell."

"Then how's 'bout a wager?"

The adrenaline pumping through my system clouded my judgement and sent a ripple if energy through me as I nodded eagerly. "What's your bet?"

"When I win, e'ery time ye thin' ta insul' me, ye be comlemen'in' me an' givin' me a kiss instea'."

"Can't."

"How?"

"I can't compliment you."

"Ye be's figgerin' how."

"Fine. If I win, you let me go, and you keep my brother out of California."

"Amy!"

"Shut up Matt."

"It's a deal."

Some of the crew hid snickers as the captain captured my hand in his own and then did the same sort of action involving the thievery of a kiss.

Arthur stepped backwards, adopting a perfect stance as though in an astonishingly effortless way.

He easily dodged my meek lunge, his feet beginning to move in a fatally magnificent waltz of a morbid birth, making me out to be a hopelessly inane fool as I didn't know the step or rhythm to the intricate dance his movements wove in front of me.

I attempted a jab, it was easily side stepped.

My wooden weapon thrust forward only to be cooly avoided, one arm still behind his back.

For a number of minutes it continued, each attempt to gain any self respect on my part seeming insignificant as with ease he halted each advance.

Like a predator, he spun me deep in a confusing web only to reveal how horrifying the nightmare could be.

The horns rose in bravado as they adopted a heightened pace, and Arthur began a new leg of his particular aforementioned waltz.

The offensive.

He walked me backwards, moving his wrist in the slightest to control the faux blade, violins and the sharp, controlled blare of peaking brass accenting the clash of wood as I desperately parried, finding my back against the railing of the ship, the captain lifting my chin with the edge of his sword, inspecting my face carefully, though he already knew the features his eyes grazed over there.

In an instant, my weapon was knocked from my hand, and with wood pressed against my neck, my breath and Arthur's interwove softly, not matching the nature of the circumstance before he kissed me once more, a long lingering thing in which his lips melded to mine in a manner that was not at all enjoyable or breathtaking.

The smirk those lips took upon them reminded me of the predicament that _'The Pirate's Waltz'_ had placed me squarely in.

* * *

OMGTHISISMYFAVORITECHAPTERYOUHAVENOIDEAHOWMUCHILOV EITTTTTTTTTTTT

And um I have no written chapters left so um I might be updating slower oops.

This chapter makes me so happy~~~~

Also! I have a facebook page for 2P!Fem!America, which I cosplay on! So if you wanna see my face, go to facebook . com

and add /theamericanvillain to the end! And submit ideas for some parts of the ransom for her bat, Louie! This includes questions, dares, and other such things. I will love you forever and ever.

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE REVIEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. I loved all the reviews that I got on my birthday, thank you all so much. 3


	19. Just Dance

Chapter 19- Just Dance

**_~Arthur Kirkland~_**

My easy victory brought me no surprise,but it did bring me copious amounts of smug anticipation. After returning the two practice swords to Peter, I shortened Amelia's distance from me with an arm about her waist. I took her chin with the hand not resting on her hip and pulled her lips to meet my own.

"Let me go."

"An' why's tha' be how I'd be doin'?"

"Because you're a- because it would be the respectful thing to do."

I kissed her again, bringing her closer to me as it deepened. "An' I respec' the lass I has bea'in' why?"

"'Cause I'd smoke your English ass in a western gun slingin' duel."

"Too ba' this be's the sea, an' no' the west, an' too ba' I be's no' takin' tha' bet."

"But!"

I went to kiss her before she could continue only for her to push my face away, aggression transparent on her features.

"Back your hustling, sadistic, dumb ass self _off. Of. Me._

"'Melia, 'Melia, 'Melia." I tsked, lips pulling into a large and growing smirk. "Tha' was an insult, aye? Remember our wager? A complimen' an' a kiss from an' on me mouth. I has no preference in the order."

"You disgust me."

"Tha's no' a complimen'."

"Fine." She spit the word, and those that were to follow, like she was glad to be rid of them, the taste undoubtedly sour on her tongue. "I respect your ability to handle a sword."

"An' me kiss?"

The dove grimaced before tilting her head in an upward persuasion and permitting her lips to collide with my own for but a fraction of a second. It granted me much satisfaction, though.

"Aye. Thar be's me good lass." I spoke to the crown of her head, the period at the end of my statement was the point at which I imprinted a kiss upon her soft hair, holding the hue of swaying wheat, struck by the glory of the sun.

"Speakin' o' swords, me fair piece, I reckonin' ta teach Chinese er adept at wastin' yer lead an' yer powder. They be easier ta fight if ye know me dance."

"Dance?"

"Sword figh'in' is nothin' bu' a dance, me bird."

"A waltz. It's like a waltz."

**_~Amelia Jones~_**

Arthur grinned, flashing a set of not so white teeth.

"I s'pose so. There's more foot work involved than thar is in wha' ye do."

Handing me a genuine sword, shorter than his own, but far heavier than the wooden versions from before, he stood behind me, one hand on my left hip, the other on my shoulder as he adjusted my arm. His fingers held contact with my skin as they drifted down to my elbow and then my wrist briefly until the contact returned after securing my grip on the handle with his hand on mine. The captain's hand was notably larger, but not drastically. He spoke as his fingers delicately shifted my wrist. "Unlike shooting, sword figh'in' is in yer wrist, no' yer arm." His voice brushed along my ear as he spoke, arm extended beside mine. "Now turn yer hip this bit.." Arthur's hand upon said hip adjusted it gently as his face came to rest beside my own while my heart beat picked up speed and my heart itself began to tell me impossible things.

"Get off, you're being a pig again." I wasn't sure if my words were honest or a simple excuse to kiss him.

"Tha's an insult."

Somehow, I couldn't convince myself to push him away out of anger, or send a malcontented glare into the depths of his soul through his one unobstructed eye.

"The fac' ye'd take me action to be o' tha' manner i' an in'eres'in' thin', aye?"

"No comment."

"Yer commen' i' o' no import anyhow, me dove." The way he spoke, lips brushing my ear as he bent his neck to achieve such closeness, was soft. Adopting the same luring tone he'd once used when first I'd met him, a predator's croon, though in this instance, holding less of the energetic anticipation of the kill. "Yer anxious way o' speakin', no' bein' resen'ful, leads me ta fea' ye may be star'in' ta enjoy me company."

"I-I'm not enjoying anything, I-"

"'Nough o' words, me lass. Ye'll be mindin's our wager, now will's ye not?"

The kiss delivered unto his lips wasn't as reluctant as I had been wanting it to seem. It was gentle, but the natural essence of the action was hypnotizing, and I found myself, like a fool, allowing him to lead me along, to teach me how our lips could so easily fit together, how my body, in my soon relaxed state, leaned against his as resting dolls, as though made for such a purpose.

At this jarring, all too substantial thought, I pulled away with a haste that so obviously gave away my troubled mentality. Arthur's expression, however, was far from resembling my own. He was clearly proud of himself, (sinfully so), as the smirk on his visage proved.

"An' me complimen'?"

"I already kissed you, I'm not complimenting you."

"Aye, aye, i' was complimen' 'nough."

"And what compliment is that?"

"I be's ge'in' be'er a' manipula'in' ye."

"Shut up. You weren't manipulating me."

"Oh, tha' be's so? Ye was kissin' me back o'yer own accord, then, me bi'd?"

"No, but I-"

"Yer le'in yer gender run off wif ye."

**_~Arthur Kirkland~_**

The closed hearted sheriff was surprisingly easy to read by then, and to stifle her distracted and frankly pathetic defensiveness, a comment stereotyping her gender as weak and hopeless against it's own desires was all that was needed.

"You know, Kirkland, I'm still the one with the sword and-"

"An' the one who knows no' how ta use I', Aye?"

"I would know how if instead of relentlessly going out of your way to toy with me you actually taught me."

"Ye un'erdstand the form, chick?"

"Yeah."

"Alrigh'. Strike me."

"What?"

"Take up yer arms an' try ta strike me. Cut me down me middle."

Her expression was quizzical before she adopted the proper stance, but after a series of jabs, all avoided, of course, I was able to note a significant problem with her manner.

She didn't follow my movements, instead allowing her feet to dig roots into my deck.

"Lay down yer sword."

She did so, eyebrows furrowed in an unsatisfied frustration.

"Come abou' me, 'Melia." I took her hand, holding it gently in my own and rested the other on her waist.

"What are you-"

"Sword figh'in' is skin ta a dance, aye?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Ye need ta learn ta mimick how yer 'pponent moves, and follow 'em. Put yer hand on me shoulder."

"I don't get how actually dancing is supposed to help anything."

"Be ye wan'in' me ta lock ye in me cabin, or ye bein' thi' stubborn by defaul'?"

Incomprehensible grumbling accompanied the immigration of her hand to my shoulder.

"Move yer foot as I does."

She fumbled to mirror my step forwards, eyes intent on our feet, her thin eyebrows knitted in the concentration that caused her to gently bite her lip. I took a step to the right, and again, her action was delayed, though without so much error as previous. It proved difficult for the lass to follow my lead, much preferring to amble awkwardly in search of the correct movement.

In truth, my knowledge of dancing was purely guesswork. Though I had seen it done but a few times, I gathered where the hands ought to be, and allowed my feet to move as they might in a quarrel.

My lack of legitimate knowledge in the subject of dancing- particularly the proper, ballroom appropriate sort- caught Feliciano's attention, causing him to correct us.

"Oh, no no no no, Capitano~ You have to-a hold her closer, no, not a grab, you do-a not have-a ta squeeze her-"

"Ye be thinkin' she's the sor' ta stay close o'er wise?"

"If you're gentle, she won't mind it~ Ve~ Bella, stand close to Capitano~"

The soft grumbles held a different disposition than her eyes and facial features. The blue, like a crystalline sky, was warm and bright, illuminated with life.

She looked away from my gaze to take a small step forward, and another. "Use your hand to-a guide her~ And Bella, you watch-a him to know what to do."

**_~Amelia Jones~_**

When I reconstruct that day in my mind, I immediately think of dancing. Not the dancing that took place on deck, or the astoundingly helpful sword fighting lesson that came after, I instead think of returning to the cabin, Arthur taking my hand and pulling me back into a dancing position, and when I looked into his uncovered eye in question, the green held an uncontainable excitement.

"What are you-"

"I be fancyin' ta dance wif ye."

"You have to take off the hat and coat."

"How?"

"I'm not going to dance with a pirate."

My hands gently lifted his hat from his head, setting it on the desk.

Still without a sound, I untied the bandanna, and finally, once all that remained was his shirt, pants, boots, and something hanging from his neck the last item I took from his personage being his eye-patch.

He looked less like Pirate Captain Kirkland and more a spirited yet gentle eyed Arthur, a man, not the beast I'd once thought him.

I had a kind of revelation. The reason I identified him as a pirate now was not him himself, but simply his hat and the clothes he wore. There was something about this man in front of me that revived the part of me that the trip west after my parents had died had had buried prematurely.

The young Amelia Jones that yearned to fly, to travel, to discover things that she couldn't explain because there were no words magnificent enough to paint a clear understanding. When had I stopped laughing in the midst of seriousness? I found at that moment that Arthur, who I had despised because he was a murderer, a thief, had brought the dead bits of me that embodied me back to life, breathing energy into my soul.

"I be's a presen'able dancin' parn'er now, aye?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah." I put my arm loosely around his neck, trying not to think about how I felt with my hand encompassed in his, or his palm pressed against the small of my back.

His voice counted softly in my ear, holding me close as he pulled me along in a clear pattern of movements. The side of Arthur's head rested against mine as the counting turned into a gentle hum.

"Yer learnin' wif haste, me craf'y li'l bi'."

"I've been told I'm a quick study."

"An' I be's told I's good one wif ye tits bu' tha' don' seem ta apply wif ye."

A coy smile spread on his lips, his head dipping down so he could look me in the eye.

"That's only to be expected, isn't it? I'm not exactly like most ladies."

He chuckled then, some amount of jovial playfulness alight in his eyes, his face levitating closer as he spoke. "Oh, yer reckonin' yerself ta be's a lady now?"

"As long as you're-"

"Me Miss Lady Jones, how nice it be's ta meet yer 'quaintance, sure as there be's a God 'bove and a devil b'low." He brought my hand, already held in his to his face, to press his lips to my knuckles, eyes like a forest never leaving my own.

"How nice indeed." The voice was not Arthur's. It belonged, in fact, to his father.

* * *

Uh, so, uh, don't eat me.

Please.

I know, I'm a horrible horrible person and you all hate me. Please don't though! I started school, and my pirate costume for Talk Like A Pirate day, this September 19th, is coming along beautifully! Yay!

Please review and love me, don't hate me. What do you think of this crazy long chapter?


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